<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Deviancy Opens So Many Doors (And Not All Are Kind) by nicodemons</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24669016">Deviancy Opens So Many Doors (And Not All Are Kind)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicodemons/pseuds/nicodemons'>nicodemons</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Detroit Evolution - Fandom, Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(but not really), Android/human friendship, Angst, Asexual Relationship, Banter, But so is Nines, Chris Miller being oblivious, Coffee, Detroit Evolution, Established Relationship, F/F, Feels, Fluff, Gavin Reed is a child, Gay Disaster Gavin Reed, Goddamn what a good movie, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Murder, Octopunk Media, Octopunk Media's Detroit: Evolution Fan Film, Other, Other stuff I can't think of right now, Panic attack(s), Post-Octopunk Media's Detroit: Evolution Fan Film, Sarcasm, Tags Are Hard, Tina Chen being the fandom, and really angsty, and soft, casefic, these tags are a mess</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 05:34:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>38,444</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24669016</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicodemons/pseuds/nicodemons</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Gavin and Nines take on a case involving a trail of androids who died of unknown causes. Gavin really needs to ask Nines a question but doesn't know how to handle feelings. Meanwhile, best friends and roommates Quinn (the only RK500 prototype ever made) and Alex (a genius ex-CyberLife employee) get into a hell of a lot more trouble than they bargained for.</p><p>When their paths converge, everyone is forced to question where they should place their trust and who's really deserving of forgiveness.</p><p>Set a few months after the events of Detroit: Evolution.<br/>Loosely based on a Tumblr ask/post in which Michelle suggested that RK500 became a guitar-playing android himbo.</p><p>This fic is my baby.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Tina Chen (Detroit: Become Human)/Valerie Morales-Chen, Upgraded Connor | RK900/Gavin Reed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>46</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. A New and Promising Day</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>After watching <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=apUn-YMMdZ8">Detroit: Evolution</a> too many times (and yet, not enough), I finally got around to writing a fic. I hope you like it! I promise there's actual Reed900 content coming in the second chapter.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>-About three months ago-</strong>
</p>
<p>Quinn has to admit that they are quite proud of their roommate.</p>
<p>Alex positively <em> glows </em> as he walks down the path in front of them, his hands in his pockets. He looks pretty proud of himself too. Quinn’s known him for five months and they’ve never seem him smile like this, and if they’re honest, they’re just as proud of him for getting the fancy CyberLife job he always wanted as for recognizing his own achievement and feeling good about himself.</p>
<p>Quinn catches up to him and links their left arm with his right. He lets them.</p>
<p>“If <em> you </em> work for CyberLife, do I get benefits too? Like, free repairs or something?” they ask.</p>
<p>Alex snorts. “We’re not married.”</p>
<p>“That’s true. But I am an android, and you’re not. Maybe I could use <em> your </em>benefits.”</p>
<p>Alex rolls his eyes. “I’ll ask.”</p>
<p>“Thanks.”</p>
<p>Quinn remembers the first time they had a night out on the town like this. The night after they first met. Alex wasn’t even an intern yet, just a recent high school graduate looking for a place to stay. Quinn had been deviant since before the revolution, but hadn’t been able to come out into the world until after, and, abandoned by Kamski and CyberLife, they had no place to go. Quinn knows, now, that Alex has always preferred the company of computers and androids over that of other humans (because, he said, humans stink), and Quinn (who has no real sense of smell) prefers to spend time with humans. </p>
<p>Their meeting was chance but felt destined. They just so happened to get on the same bus, and the only available seat happened to be right next to Quinn. Quinn, ever the talker, introduced themself to the skinny kid with the overlarge glasses obscuring intelligent brown eyes, his clothes disheveled, his beard little more than an unshaven shadow under his chin. And Alex, after giving his name, let them keep talking, always a listener.</p>
<p>Then, his interest piqued by Quinn’s situation, he asked questions. Gave his own opinions, the light behind his eyes sparking.  It was so infrequently that Quinn found a human who was willing to make interesting conversation about real issues, especially those concerning androids. He told her that he’d just come up from Indianapolis, shooting for a CyberLife internship and that he was looking for somewhere to call home while he finished up the online college courses he needed to get there. </p>
<p>“I’m looking for a place, too,” Quinn said. “This is going to sound crazy, but… would you maybe want to room with me? I mean, rent is expensive. We could split it.”</p>
<p>Alex stared at them for a moment. </p>
<p>
  <em> Of course he’s going to say no, no one moves in with a total stranger. </em>
</p>
<p>“Sure,” Alex said.</p>
<p>“Oh. Oh! Great! Here. Take my number.” Quinn scrambled for a moment for a pen before spotting one on the floor, left by some past passenger. They picked it up and took Alex’s hand. They wrote their number on his palm.</p>
<p>Alex laughed. “I’ll text you.” And then he got off the bus.</p>
<p>He made good on the promise. That night, he texted them a link to information about an apartment vacancy near the downtown area with cheap rent.</p>
<p>The rest is history. They went out the next night to a hole-in-the-wall restaurant that served Thirium drinks to get to know each other better and moved in within the week.</p>
<p>“Where are you even taking me?” Alex asks now. </p>
<p>“Right here,” Quinn says, stopping in front of a shop from which families with children and gaggles of teenagers stream in and out.</p>
<p>Alex cracks a grin. “I thought you were taking me to dinner.”</p>
<p>“Psh. This <em> is </em>dinner.”</p>
<p>“Ice cream is not dinner. It’s dessert.”</p>
<p>“Oh, come on, you’re the one who told me that if you ever got the job you would eat ice cream for dinner.”</p>
<p>“That was a <em> joke. </em>”</p>
<p>Quinn shrugs. “So? It seemed like you really wanted it.”</p>
<p>Alex considers. “So you’re going to buy me ice cream?”</p>
<p>“Oh god no. You’re the one with the money. I’m just here to encourage you to make bad decisions. It’s <em> kinda </em> my whole purpose in life.” Quinn gives him a little shove toward the door.</p>
<p>“Man, I knew keeping you around was a bad idea,” Alex says, but he complies with Quinn’s nonverbal command anyway. </p>
<p>He buys himself a small cone of strawberry ice cream, and the two of them take a seat on a bench outside the shop, from where they can watch pedestrians pass.</p>
<p>At first, the silence between them is companionable. Quinn finds a certain amount of satisfaction in knowing that Alex is happy— it almost surprises them to even think about. They’ve never come to care about a human—or even another android, for that matter—this much before.</p>
<p>They turn away from the sights in front of them to glance at Alex.</p>
<p>
  <em> Relationship: family. </em>
</p>
<p>But he’s not really their little brother. He never will be. Alex could realize at any time that he no longer needs Quinn and leave—with blood in each of them running different colors, what’s there to make him stay?</p>
<p>Quinn’s attention drifts back to the families around them, enjoying their cold, flavored sugar-milk.</p>
<p>There’s something so fundamentally human about sharing food. It’s a bonding ritual of sorts. They’ve heard it described as “unifying.” A documentary once told them that it has to do with the fact that all humans have to eat; it’s one of the few things all people have in common. Quinn wishes they could share that with Alex.</p>
<p>It’s one of those things that gets stuck in Quinn’s head and bounces around in their metal chest in the hollow where they imagine a soul should be. It’s a pang of longing, a black hole, a twinge of sadness in mourning of the good memories they’ll never have. It’s a misty pane of glass between Quinn and Alex and everyone around them that they’ll never be able to break through, forcing them to sit still and watch as others live the life they wish they had, a constant reminder that everything they experience is nothing but a cheap imitation.</p>
<p>Quinn doesn’t even realize how much time they’ve spent introspecting until they see Alex is already finishing off his cone (although he is a very fast eater, so maybe it’s not the best measure of time). </p>
<p>Quinn hops off the bench, taking Alex’s hand and pulling him up with them.</p>
<p>“C’mon, let’s go bowling.”</p>
<p>“What— but it’s like ten-thirty!” </p>
<p>“Uh, yeah. Your point?”</p>
<p>“Maybe you don’t need sleep, but I <em> do. </em>”</p>
<p>“Oh come on, man. Just one night of fun won’t kill you.”</p>
<p>“You’re right. Sleep deprivation will.”</p>
<p>Quinn knows that Alex knows he can’t win this one. </p>
<p>They take a bus to a bowling alley Alex apparently didn’t even know existed. It’s small and kind of dingy, but the internet gives it good reviews and they’re greeted at the door by a kindly middle-aged woman in a red polo shirt.</p>
<p>Quinn has never bowled before, but they’ve reviewed plenty of footage and downloaded guides on how to do so, and therefore considers themself a pro. So when it turns out that they are <em> terrible </em>at bowling, it’s, well, frustrating.</p>
<p>Alex finds it hilarious. He’s never been bowling either, but he’s a natural. Quinn does not understand.</p>
<p>“But I’ve <em> studied </em>!” they complain.</p>
<p>“Aha,” says Alex, pointing a finger at them from the aisle over. “But see, you never went to high school, so you never learned this. But I did, and it’s the most valuable lesson I ever learned. Studying doesn’t always work. Most of the time, you have to rely on natural talent and sheer dumb luck. It’s what life is.”</p>
<p>“Alex, I think you took the wrong thing away from high school. Honestly I’d be a little scared to hear what other lessons you learned.”</p>
<p>Alex smirks. “I won’t tell you, then.”</p>
<p>Quinn only improves a little bit over the course of the next hour and a half. A machine at the end of the aisle spits out little paper carnival tickets at seemingly random intervals, and by the time Quinn acquires about ten tickets, Alex has almost a hundred.</p>
<p>At that point, Quinn is ready to move on to something they can crush Alex at. Alex insists on cashing in his tickets before they leave, so Quinn follows him to the booth where an android clerk stands guard over a variety of outdated kids’ toys.</p>
<p>A light-up rainbow slinky catches Quinn’s eye. It is an entirely useless piece of plastic, and yet, Quinn wants it. It’s a shame it costs fifty tickets and Alex is set on something else.</p>
<p>Alex trades his tickets for a vintage Beanie Baby, which he clutches close to his chest as soon as he receives it and has no obvious intentions of ever letting it go. </p>
<p>As he makes for the door, Quinn lags behind.</p>
<p>“Hey buddy. Can I have that?” Quinn asks, pointing at the rainbow slinky. </p>
<p>The android looks a little confused at first, but then their expression softens. “Yeah, sure.” And they hand it over.</p>
<p>“Thanks, man.” Quinn saunters out of the alley and catches up with Alex. They begin to walk towards <em> something— </em>their next adventure, Quinn likes to think—Alex still clutching his new Beanie Baby and scratching behind its ears as if it were a real cat.</p>
<p>“Jealous?”</p>
<p>“Why would I possibly be jealous of <em> you? </em>” </p>
<p>“You didn’t get a prize.”</p>
<p>“Oh, I got a prize alright.” Quinn pulls the slinky out of their pocket and holds it up, making sure to activate the lights within it. </p>
<p>Alex’s mouth drops open. “But… I used all your tickets.”</p>
<p>Quinn wiggles their eyebrows at him. “Who said you need tickets to win a prize?”</p>
<p>“You stole it?” Alex tosses his head back and lets out a laugh. “You stole a <em> slinky </em>?”</p>
<p>“It lights up!” Quinn can only maintain eye contact for a few seconds before a giggle escapes, and then the two of them are cackling uncontrollably as they make their way down the street, the sound bouncing off the buildings around them and filling the chilly fall air.</p>
<p>They end up at a mini-golf place because as it nears two in the morning, it’s pretty much the only place open. There’s only one android on shift, Kevin, who’s so eager for something to do he all but pays for their tickets. </p>
<p>“You guys, I work the night shift every day of the week and you two are the first group of non-drunk, non-assholes I’ve had to help out in a long time <em> and </em>the first people I’ve talked to since, like, ten p.m,” he says as he bounces around, gathering clubs and balls and working the cash register in a completely illogical manner.</p>
<p>When Quinn invites him to play with them, he smiles so wide they’re afraid his face might actually break.</p>
<p>As Quinn expected, they absolutely <em> destroy </em> the competition. For reasons Quinn doesn’t really understand, preconstruction is much easier to do in minigolf than bowling, and they’re able to make such precise moves that they make par without fail.</p>
<p>The determination on Alex’s face as his focus becomes razor sharp and he uses that genius brain of his to calculate his every move is… cute, but ultimately not enough—although their scores end up close enough to make Quinn nervous.</p>
<p>They leave the mini-golf place around five in the morning, promising as they do so to come back sometime and play again with Kevin. Quinn finds it unlikely that they actually will, but the joy on Kevin’s sheer joy at hearing it is utterly precious.</p>
<p>At five-thirty, Quinn and Alex collapse into bus seats, and by five thirty-five, Alex has fallen against Quinn’s side, his eyes closed, breathing in the steady rhythm of sleep. He’s tiny, barely five feet tall and little more than skin and bones, so it’s easy for Quinn to put their own jacket on him over his own so he doesn’t freeze in the early-morning fall cold, and put their arms around him to support his limp frame.</p>
<p>Quinn watches the city rush by them out the window, their forehead pressed against the glass. In the absence of conversation, Quinn hums quietly to themself. It’s a new tune, one they’re just making up as they go.</p>
<p>Quinn, the only RK500 prototype ever made, has only one coding flaw (as far as they know). Designed to be a musician, Quinn’s processors take some of the past century’s most popular songs and turn them into an algorithm, from which their mind develops music all on its own. The problem is, it <em> never </em>stops. Notes run in their head every moment of every day, in stasis and out, sometimes quieted by distractions, sometimes so loud they can barely hear anything else. Quinn has yet to decide whether it’s a blessing or a curse.</p>
<p>Right now, it feels like a blessing. It lends an element of cinema to the night, making Quinn feel like the main character in a movie (although what kind of movie their life might be they couldn’t say), and they imagine looking upon themselves through the lens of a camera, illuminated by the sepia-toned lights of a mostly dormant Detroit.</p>
<p><em> 7:00 a.m.: 5 minutes to sunrise, </em>Quinn’s brain alerts. The bus is nearing the waterfront, probably for the second time since they boarded, although Quinn has long since stopped paying attention.</p>
<p>“Hey. Alex.” They shake him awake. He blinks and sits up slowly, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. His dark hair has somehow been ruffled, sticking up wildly in different directions.</p>
<p>“What… did I sleep?”</p>
<p>Quinn snorts. “Yeah, like an hour and a half, sleeping beauty.”</p>
<p>“Where are we? What— why aren’t we home?”</p>
<p>“Because I want you to see something. Get up.”</p>
<p>The bus screeches to a halt and Quinn pushes Alex out of his seat. The two of them get off. They’re at the docks now, looking eastward toward Canada. A blush of pink colors the line between the sky and Lake St. Clair, and a chill wind blows off the water. Alex shivers under the two jackets he wears.</p>
<p>Quinn takes his hand and walks him down the old dock. They’re the only ones here at this hour, the waterfront quiet but for the back-and-forth of waves against the shore and the occasional bird overhead, and now the sounds of their footsteps on the creaky wood.</p>
<p>Quinn kicks their shoes off and sits down at the far end of the dock that stretches out over the shallow waters and lets their feet dangle over the edge, getting just the tips of their toes wet. </p>
<p>
  <em> Warning: water temp. 54.8°F,  12.7°C. </em>
</p>
<p>Alex follows their lead. His feet don’t touch the water at all. </p>
<p>Orange hues chase the pink into the sky, followed by yellow, and then a sliver of pure sunlight peeking over the horizon sets it all on fire, painting the clouds crimson red. The first of the morning’s cars rush behind them as the city wakes up and goes to work.</p>
<p>“Wow,” says Alex finally.</p>
<p>“Pretty, right?”</p>
<p>“Beautiful.” His lips are parted in awe. His exhaustion is momentarily forgotten.</p>
<p>They spend the next half hour like this, their bare feet hanging over the edge of their little world, contentedly taking in the view and feeling the slow turn of the earth into a new and promising day.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thanks for reading! I'm sitting on like 13k of this (6/16 update: 20k) and I'm really excited to (finally) share it with you all.</p>
<p>Gotta thank <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/legendtripper">legendtripper</a> for being my cheerleader, beta-reader, and scheming partner. They're a brilliant writer and I highly suggest visiting their page and reading some of their fics as well. </p>
<p>If you wanna know what Quinn looks like: <a href="https://twitter.com/legendtripperb/status/1258468622307074050?s=21">This is it</a> </p>
<p>ALSO. I'm selling custom beanie hats to support Black Lives Matter and the Trevor Project, so if you're interested in buying one, please visit <a href="https://www.instagram.com/hatsforhumans/">@hatsforhumans on Instagram!</a></p>
<p>Anyway, thanks again,<br/>Sam</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Gavin Reed: Ultimate Detective/Genius</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>-Present-</strong>
</p><p>
  <span>Detective Gavin Reed has never looked better in his entire career, and Nines delights in knowing that it’s mostly his fault. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not that he looks </span>
  <em>
    <span>great</span>
  </em>
  <span>, per se, but he at least looks like… </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>a corpse. He looks like he’s recovering from a long battle with his own self-destructiveness. Nines watches him return to their table from the bar, with a glass of water for himself and a drink for each of his friends, and internally congratulates himself on his good work. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The only thing that’s immediately noticeable, really, is his smile. He’s always had a half-grin or a smirk to go along with his bad jokes and snide comments, but rarely did he used to genuinely smile. Now he does it all the time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But upon further reflection on the past few months, Nines notes a number of other things. His posture has improved. His pallor has changed; the shadows on his face are less severe, even in the dim light of the bar. When he sits, he doesn’t slump over, and he rests his arms on the table rather than reach up to rub his face or eyes. He engages in conversation sometimes — he’s not a chatterbox, but neither is he withdrawn — and on occasion he can be downright pleasant. Funny, even. Although he hasn’t lost his particular brand of humor, it doesn’t have the same bite anymore.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He passes Tina, Valerie, Chris, and Nines their drinks. Chris takes his and lifts his glass.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“To another case solved,” he says. Glass clinks as the rest of the group follow his lead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And to me hopefully getting a promotion,” Tina adds. And this time, it’s true that she </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>up for one. They all raise their glasses again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a time when Nines didn’t think any of this was possible. That he could be here, in a bar, with a team — he might even call them his family, at this point — who accept him, and whose company he enjoys. That he could look around and see other groups just like this one, androids and humans alike, talking, laughing, and, in some cases, dancing (badly). That he could turn right back around and find Gavin Reed with hazel eyes twinkling as he socializes with his coworkers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tin Can, you’re staring,” Gavin says, shifting his attention to his partner. “What is it? Do I have somethin’ on my face?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s nothing. I’m just— glad to see you so…”</span>
</p><p><span>“Happy?”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“I was going to say ‘alive,’ but if that applies as well then I am just as glad for it.”</span></p><p>
  <span>Gavin grins. “How could I not be?” he asks. “Happy, I mean.” His hand finds Nines’s under the table, and Nines momentarily finds himself grateful that he can’t blush. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Then Gavin finishes,“I just solved the biggest case of my career.” And that moment is over. Nines disentangles his fingers from Gavin’s and smacks his shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey!” Tina cuts in. “I helped too! And so did Chris… a little bit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chris can’t seem to decide whether to be flattered or offended.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, okay. </span>
  <em>
    <span>We </span>
  </em>
  <span>solved the biggest case of my career,” Gavin concedes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But they all know that it was Gavin who really put the pieces together. It was Gavin who made the big breaks. It was Gavin who finally caught up to the perp and made the final arrest. Nines can’t even deny that it was impressive. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The case took months to crack. It came with special priority from the mayor: an absolutely bizarre series of break-ins on his various properties, in which </span>
  <em>
    <span>nothing </span>
  </em>
  <span>at all was stolen. It wasn’t until Gavin came to the completely illogical conclusion that they were never intended to be robbieries but rather the setup to a murder, that they were able to zero in on a suspect, at which point Gavin embarked on a rooftop chase over half the city until he caught said suspect. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Then, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he quickly and intelligently extracted a confession. He knew all the right things to say and places to prod to get him to talk. He got under the other man’s skin as though he knew exactly what he was thinking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nines still remembers the look Gavin gave him that night as they walked out of the station to drive back to Gavin’s, the way that the stars above mirrored the half-self-satisfied, half-mischievous twinkle (at the risk of waxing too poetic) in his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nines has always known that Gavin is a great detective. But ever since the case with Ada, Gavin has only gotten better. Nines attributes that success to Gavin’s somewhat improved health, for which, of course, he credits himself. He does not let Gavin forget it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gavin, you deserve a drink,” says Tina.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin shakes his head. “I’m good, Tina.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She makes a </span>
  <em>
    <span>tsk </span>
  </em>
  <span>sound with her mouth. “We’re celebrating </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and we don’t even get to see you pissed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin winces. “I promise, you never want to see that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tina squints at him. “You’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>already</span>
  </em>
  <span> mean when you’re sober.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin takes a long drink of water. “I promise. I’m even worse drunk.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tina finally picks up on what Gavin’s putting down. </span>
  <em>
    <span>No more questions please.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay. But can we at least see you dance?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nines realizes that while he’s seen Gavin both sing and play guitar, he’s never witnessed him dancing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, god,” Gavin groans, but he lets Tina take his hands and lead him out to the dance floor, motioning for the rest of the group to join them. Valerie and Chris do, but Nines hangs back and watches his friends make utter fools of themselves while Gavin begins to let loose, little by little. An older song comes on that Nines is sure he’s never heard but that the net immediately lets him know is “Call Me Maybe” by Carly Rae Jepsen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin knows all the words. He sings along. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Call me, maybe? </span>
  </em>
  <span>He mouths at Nines, making a fist with his thumb and pinkie extended and holding it up to his ear, the much outdated sign for </span>
  <em>
    <span>call me.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Nines feels a smile spread across his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A few more songs play (Gavin sings but still doesn’t do more than swaying in the way of dancing) before Gavin stumbles off the dance floor, a little flustered, his cheeks and ears red. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s get out of here?” He says to Nines. He rubs the back of his neck. “The noise— the crowd— there’s only so much of this I can take.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course.” Nines nods once. Gavin may no longer be as hostile, but he is still an introvert. His friends have come to respect that he has his limitations; that too </span>
  <em>
    <span>much</span>
  </em>
  <span> social interaction wears him out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nines loves Tina and Valerie and Chris, but he doesn’t mind saying goodbye and leaving a little early. He and Gavin step out into the crisp night air, the music and noise muffled by the door, mostly replaced by the hum of the city.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rather than walk towards the spot where Gavin parked his car, Nines and Gavin head in the other direction down the street. There are few pedestrians at this time, most everyone sheltered in the other bars and clubs and restaurants they pass. Music streams from behind walls covered in peeling posters and multicolored neon signs. Strings of lights hang overhead, swaying slightly in the breeze.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin’s face has turned pensive. For a few minutes they walk in comfortable silence, enjoying each other’s company, their hands joined between them.</span>
</p><p><span>“If you don’t mind me asking, Gavin,” Nines says, “Why </span><em><span>don’t </span></em><span>you drink? I understand if you don’t want to talk about it, you seemed uncomfortable when Tina said—</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“No, no. It’s fine.” Gavin takes a deep breath. “It’s uh… well, let’s just say it was hard enough for me to quit drinking and I never want to have to do it again.”</span></p><p>
  <span>“You had… an addiction.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin lets out a breathy half-laugh. “If you wanna put it bluntly.” He’s quiet for a moment, as if debating whether or not he wants to continue. “My teenage years were pretty rough. And for a long time, that was how I coped. Even after I joined the force.” He sighs. “But it was… well, you know, it wasn’t healthy. It turned me into someone I hated and I did a lot of things I regret, which kinda just made everything ten times worse. And then I started losing people.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So you overcame it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. I had to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m proud of you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin glances up at him. “Really?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really. I have never been an alcoholic, but I know that it can be extremely difficult to quit a habit like that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh. Well, uh. Thanks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now we just have to get you to stop smoking.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm. We’ll see. I think I gotta keep at least one habit that’ll kill me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That kind of mindset is— forget it.” Nines shakes his head. “Thank you for sharing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin shrugs. They walk another block, then turn around, headed back to the car.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is there something else bothering you?” Nines asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I’m just… thinking.” The ghost of a grin graces his face. Nines can only wonder </span>
  <em>
    <span>what, </span>
  </em>
  <span>exactly, he’s thinking about.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time they reach the car, their conversation has turned to other things. Highlights of their newly-closed case, that one time Chris asked Tina if Valerie was her sister, potential names for Gavin’s theoretical new cat, and so forth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin clicks a button on his car keys and the car beeps as it unlocks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So… do you want me to take you back to your place, or…?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Would you like me to stay the night again?” Nines has spent most nights for the past couple of weeks at Gavin’s apartment. Gavin doesn’t ever say it, but Nines knows it helps him sleep, knowing he’s there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I— I mean—” Gavin blushes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He does not stop at Nines’s building.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Running Dangerously Low</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Quinn has a Really Bad Idea</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>-About three weeks ago-</strong>
</p><p>
  <span>Quinn is bored.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>These days, Quinn is usually bored.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex can tell because they’re sitting on the worn, dated, early-2000s-style couch, upside down, with their bare feet against the drywall, their long brown hair settling on the grayish carpet. They wiggle their toes, humming to themself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They reach for the guitar to their right, and sets it on their stomach. They’ve been practicing playing upside-down almost non-stop for about a week now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex watches them start to strum, tentative at first, then sing, and then, slowly, get lost in the music—in the numbers and magic of it all, swept away by the river of notes and chords. For a moment, he can almost get lost in it with them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Seriously? More country?” He says. It’s supposed to be light, a joke, but it comes out tense and bitter like everything else. He can’t seem to take the edge out of his own voice these days. He clears his throat. It’s a little sore.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>When was the last time I had water?</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He can’t even remember how long it’s been since he ate. His head aches, faintly, but his stomach has long since given up protesting the abuse. Maybe his head will too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The guitar stops. Quinn sighs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not </span>
  <em>
    <span>my </span>
  </em>
  <span>fault everyone in the last century was obsessed with country music.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s stupid. Rock was way bigger. Whatever database you’re hooked up to is wrong.” Plus, rock is better.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quinn frowns. “No, the internet is never wrong.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The internet is </span>
  <em>
    <span>constantly </span>
  </em>
  <span>wrong. You definitely should know that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quinn huffs and backflips into standing position with, quite literally, inhuman grace. They set their guitar back down on the floor against the couch, where some (mostly Alex) have said is not a very smart place to permanently store a guitar (especially since Alex </span>
  <em>
    <span>bought </span>
  </em>
  <span>the thing and definitely cannot afford repairs, much less a replacement).</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quinn stands there for a moment in the middle of the room, their arms crossed, looking straight into his soul. Scanning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re dehydrated. And tired. And you seriously need some food,” they tell him. “Getting fired is </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>a reason not to take care of yourself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex rubs at his eyes. There’s a heaviness in his bones he can’t shake. “Fine.” He stands, heads into the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their cat, Furby (Quinn’s idea) follows him and curls around his legs as he stops in front of the fridge.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck. Forgot to feed the cat.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’re running dangerously low on cat food.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And— Alex opens the fridge— human food. He needs to go grocery shopping. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex takes his water back to his desk. His computer is still on. Lines of code fill the screen, a fledgling idea he hopes he can turn into something real. He’s good at starting. Bad at finishing. It’s what made him a promising hire three months ago, and got him fired two months later (or, at least, one of the things that got him fired). </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s going to finish this. He has to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m going to get some air,” says Quinn. Alex knows that’s bullshit. Quinn doesn’t need to breathe. “Wanna come with?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why the hell would I do that?” he asks. “I have the whole world right here at my fingertips.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quinn shrugs. He hears the door squeak and then their footsteps rattling on the metal stairs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He really should go out. Even just for a walk. Maybe when he gets back, he’ll have some fresh ideas.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s probably the healthiest thought he’s had in weeks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He grabs his coat and runs out to the street. He’s breathless by the time he catches up with his roommate at the end of the block, his airways burning from the intake of unseasonably cold air. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quinn looks surprised, but doesn’t say anything. Just keeps walking, kicking pebbles and bits of cracked sidewalk along with them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It seems as though it might rain. Dark clouds hang low over the horizon, casting ominous shadows over the city, and the wind smells distinctly of ozone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The street is almost completely silent this time of day. Eerily so.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Until a third-story window opens above them with a rattle and clunk of old wood and glass and a head pokes out, face almost hidden by the mass of dark curls that fall over it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Quinn! Alex!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Amberly!” Quinn calls up to her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Going somewhere?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not really!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another window opens. Someone shouts at them to quiet down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Amberly rolls her eyes. “Come up here! Simone’s out and I’m lonely!”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her apartment smells like chemicals and Thirium. It’s laid out almost exactly like theirs, but instead of a couch, they have a futon riddled with inexplicable burn marks and mystery stains, and there’s a yellowing </span>
  <em>
    <span>High School Musical</span>
  </em>
  <span> poster hanging on the wall above the table on the right side of the room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quinn blows a kiss to Zac Efron as they enter. He doesn’t appear to notice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Amberly is lying on the futon with her feet up on the wooden arm. She’s smoking something— Alex wonders briefly if it’s the same stuff she’s been dealing around the neighborhood—and it makes his eyes water.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His breath starts to come in short. He reaches for his inhaler, but it’s not in his pocket. It’s at home, on the table next to the computer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s not sorry to have to leave. Quinn offers to carry him back, “bridal style,” but he shakes his head no. Quinn deserves some time with other friends.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anyway, he needs to get back to work.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Time passes differently when he’s working. His mind quiets, everything else pushed into the background. He’s not a bitter, resentful ex-CyberLife employee. He’s not a five-foot mess with top surgery scars still healing on his chest and wide hips and acne on his face. He’s not a silent, moody, stinky roommate who needs to be reminded like a child when to eat or sleep and soon enough won’t even be able to contribute to the rent. For a while, it’s not about the money or Quinn or his future anymore. It’s for the sake of </span>
  <em>
    <span>creating</span>
  </em>
  <span> something. It’s all about the numbers and words and ideas flowing from his head to his fingertips to his computer to the world.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s actually irritated when Quinn slams open the door some amount of time later and blows into the room like a gust of wind off a storm. Then he’s angry when they push him off his chair and take over his computer (he doesn’t know if they remembered to save what he was working on).</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It fades away when he realizes what’s taking shape on the translucent screen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is that?” He asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Something that’s going to make us very rich.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This is the solution. This is the answer to all of their collective problems. This is the stopper that will fill the gnawing hole in their chest and soften the noise in their head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This is it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They take their white hands off the keyboard, smiling at Alex. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Relationship: confidante.</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Animosity Between Us Has Passed</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>-Present-</strong>
</p><p>Gavin is “just thinking” again. He’s already cleaned and organized his desk—which is always a war zone during cases and impeccable between them—and is spinning his chair in lazy circles, kicking his desk to keep himself moving back and forth. His arms are crossed, eyebrows knit, his head tucked into his chest so one hand can reach up and absently tap his chin.</p><p>Nines almost scans him as he walks past with a stack of papers for Fowler, but stops himself short, remembering that Gavin has asked him not to do it as much. <em> It’s invasive </em>, he said. Nines is trying to do it less, despite how much he sometimes worries for him.</p><p>How is he supposed to know when Gavin needs help?</p><p>
  <em> Read body language like a normal person, dipshit. </em>
</p><p>Gavin doesn’t look stressed. He’s probably fine. </p><p>What a fun perk of deviancy, worry.</p><p>Nines gives the papers to Captain Fowler. He starts a pot of coffee for Gavin. He makes toast for Tina.</p><p>As he starts to move away from Tina after delivering her toast, she grabs the edge of his sleeve and pulls him back. There’s tumult behind her warm eyes.</p><p>“Tina? What’s the matter?”</p><p>Tina uses his sleeve to force him into the chair next to her. She is a lot stronger than she looks. Her voice is low when she speaks, as though she doesn’t want anyone else to hear.</p><p>“Nines. Do you think I’m really going to get that promotion?”</p><p>Nines blinks. “Why wouldn’t you?”</p><p>Tina sighs. She pulls out her ponytail, shakes out her long brown hair, and then puts it back up, tighter. “It’s just—it’s been a few days now. And since, you know, that one time, he hasn’t said anything. It’s like he was just trying to, I don’t know, be nice.”</p><p>“You deserve that promotion, Tina. You’ll get it.”</p><p>“But that’s the thing, Nines. What if I don’t? What if I’m just stuck in this position for the rest of my career?” He has never heard her sound so pessimistic. It’s a bit of a shock to his system. “I mean, how many other cases have we worked that he’s told me, you know,” she mimicks Fowler’s voice, “Excellent work, Tina, you’ll make a good detective,’ and then given me a pat on the back instead of a pay raise or a new job title?”</p><p>She has a point.</p><p>“I’ve worked so hard for this, Nines.”</p><p>“I know you have. Would you like me to speak to Fowler for you?”</p><p>Tina looks past him at Fowler’s office, chewing her bottom lip. He’s in a meeting with Connor and Hank right now, so his windows are darkened for privacy.</p><p>“I don’t know, Nines. I mean, I really appreciate that, I just—I don’t know. And there’s another thing—”</p><p>Nines never gets to hear it.</p><p>“Detective Reed! Nines! Come here,” Fowler calls from his office. </p><p>“I’m sorry Tina, I’ll—” </p><p>Tina waves him away, understanding, and turns back to her work. “We can talk later. Go.”</p><p>Nines can’t help but feel guilty walking up into that fancy glass office. Here he is, playing detective, Tina’s dream job handed to <em> him </em> the moment he stepped into the precinct for the first time, while Tina works her ass off to no avail. He wonders if Tina’s jealous. He wonders why Fowler keeps holding off on that promotion.</p><p>What else did she want to tell him?</p><p>Anderson and Connor are still standing before Fowler’s desk when Nines and Gavin arrive, and all share the same look of concerned confusion. Fowler’s fingers are steepled against his lips, and he’s looking down at an array of photographs without really seeing them.</p><p>Nines’s vision adjusts, and in a split second he takes in the information he can get from the photos. Each one is a different android body — dead. They show no physical signs of damage except for discoloration in what’s visible of their optical units. Each is in a different location: a filthy living room, an alley, and a bar.</p><p>“Captain?” asks Nines.</p><p>The captain looks up and puts his hands down. </p><p>“Gavin. Nines. Thank you. I have a case for you two.”</p><p>“Another android serial killer?” Gavin asks, leaning over to see the photos. His eyes flick towards Nines. <em> Ada? </em></p><p>“Maybe,” says Connor. “The injuries these androids have sustained are… unusual.”</p><p>“How so?”</p><p>“All of their processing units are damaged beyond repair, but… nothing seems to have directly caused their condition. There’s no sign of physical trauma or any indication that someone somehow shut them down. They appear to have simply ceased functioning.”</p><p>“But androids don’t just… die, do they?” Gavin asks.</p><p>“We don’t know. Frankly, the technology is just still too new for us to say for sure,” says Hank.</p><p>“But it’s been, what, twenty years?”</p><p>Hank mutters something under his breath.</p><p>“Excuse me Anderson, what was that?” Fowler asks.</p><p>Hank huffs. “That’s… what… Elijah Kamski said.”</p><p>Connor adjusts his jacket (which doesn’t need adjusting), and suddenly seems to find his shoes <em> very </em>interesting.</p><p>“Captain Fowler, with all due respect, why are you giving Gavin and me this case? Why not those two?” asks Nines, indicating Hank and Connor.</p><p>“They’ve taken on a high-profile robbery case. It’s just too important. We need another set of hands on this one.”</p><p>Nines almost expects Gavin to protest — he probably would have, just a few months ago —  but he doesn’t. </p><p>Instead, he asks, “What do we know about the victims? Any connection between the three?”</p><p>“Not that we know of,” says Connor, “but you should definitely keep looking for one.”</p><p>Nines nods. “Can we go back to the places where these bodies were found?”</p><p>Fowler slides the photos into a thin folder and holds it up. “Take the file. Everything you need’s in there.” As Gavin grabs it, Fowler rubs his eyes. “Now get going, please. I still need to talk to these two.”</p><p>Nines and Gavin exit Fowler’s glass box of an office, Gavin already sifting through the papers in the folder.</p><p>“Not much to work with here,” he says. </p><p>Nines peers over Gavin’s shoulder. There are, in fact, a total of three sheets of paper (excluding the photographs) in the folder, and two of them are almost completely blank. </p><p>“No, not really. But we do have their addresses and the locations where their bodies were found. We should get going now before the trail gets too cold.”</p><p> </p><p>All Gavin wants to do is ask one simple question. Six short words, uttered before by probably hundreds of thousands of boyfriends — <em> my god, he is Nines’s </em> boyfriend <em> — </em>in the history of boyfriends. </p><p>Gavin has been shot, stabbed, chased, and run over, he’s seen battle and peace, he has faced serial killers and rapists and a variety of greasy crooks, and yet, somehow, this is one of the scariest things he has ever even considered doing.</p><p>Bringing six words out of his brain into the world. Just asking one. Question.</p><p>He’s spent a lot of time and mental energy trying to come up with just one reason why this is so hard for him. Maybe it’s because bullet wounds, if they don’t kill him, can be sewed shut and healed, and the pain can be numbed with a pill or a gel. Crimes can be solved. Criminals can be locked up. </p><p>But words, betrayal, loss — they just hurt. And they keep hurting, for a long time. Gavin learned that the hard way, and he is not keen on repeating the lesson. </p><p>“Gavin.”</p><p>Nines’s quiet voice breaks his reverie.</p><p>“Are you alright?”</p><p>Gavin blinks.</p><p>“What? Oh. Yeah. I’m fine. Just peachy.”</p><p>“You look… distressed.”</p><p>Gavin comes to a stop at an intersection and briefly makes eye contact with the android sitting in the passenger seat of his car.</p><p>“No, really. I’m okay.” He smiles, just to prove it.</p><p>Nines obviously doesn’t buy it, but his expression softens anyway.</p><p>“Gavin. Someone just cut right in front of you — dangerously close — and you didn’t even mutter angrily under your breath.”</p><p>Gavin realizes that he didn’t even notice.</p><p>“Perhaps you should let me drive,” says Nines.</p><p>“You… never drive.” At least Gavin has never seen it. “Do you even know how?”</p><p>“Of course I do. I’m the most advanced android ever made.”</p><p>“Then why don’t you? Ever?”</p><p>“Because… I don’t like it.”</p><p>“You don’t <em> like </em> driving? That’s why you’ve made <em> me </em>do it all this time?”</p><p>“If I recall correctly, you didn’t <em> trust </em>me to drive when we first met.” </p><p>“I didn’t say that.”</p><p>“Yes, you did. I believe your exact words were, ‘don’t you dare get in that driver’s seat or I’ll kill you, plastic asshole. I don’t trust you with a car.’”</p><p>“Are you <em> sure </em>I said that?” </p><p>“My memory never fails, Gavin.”</p><p> Gavin hesitates. “I’m sorry, Nines. I was…”</p><p>“Gavin, I don’t need you to apologize. That time of animosity between us has passed. What matters is where we are now. And right now, we are in this car, together. Partners.” </p><p>Gavin feels Nines’s hand on his knee. He takes his right hand off the wheel and sets it on top of Nines’s, interlacing their fingers. He takes a deep breath.</p><p>“So, Gavin. Tell me. What is on your mind?” Nines says, giving his hand one more squeeze before drawing it away. “Oh. This is the place.”</p><p>Gavin pulls up to the curb and shifts the car to park. He takes a deep breath.</p><p>
  <em> You can do this, Reed. </em>
</p><p>But he doesn’t get the chance. Before he can say anything, the door to the dilapidated building on their right — which just so happens to be the entrance to the first crime scene —  bursts open and someone runs out and around the corner at breakneck speed. Nines and Gavin are out of the car in the next moment, and then Nines is off, looking back just once as if to tell Gavin, <em> hold that thought. </em></p><p>Gavin doesn’t know whether he’s relieved or disappointed. But he does know that would be no use in this foot chase at this point, so he slips through the still-open door into the lobby of the old apartment building. He flashes his badge at the doorman (who doesn’t quite seem to understand yet what just happened) and takes the stairs to the second floor.</p><p>The particular apartment where the body was found has already been abandoned by the police, no longer closed off and monitored as a crime scene, and Gavin realizes immediately, with a flash of frustration, how much of a mistake that was. The door hangs open, and upon closer inspection shows signs of a break-in. The report said there were none.</p><p>If he ever hoped to gather any new evidence from the apartment, his hopes are all but dashed now. The place is a disaster. Pillows have been taken from the futon and tossed on the ground. The rug has been turned over and slid into the corner. The corner of a <em> High School Musical </em>poster on the right side of the room has peeled off the wall and curled up. The table underneath it has been upended, and shards of glass swimming in puddles of foul-smelling liquids of various colors make the floor a hazard. </p><p>He steps towards the opening to the bedroom on the left, glass crunching under his boots, and sees that it’s not in any better shape. A desk’s various drawers and an assortment of papers and electronic devices litter the ground and unmade bed.</p><p>“Shit.” </p><p>Whoever broke in was looking for something, and after picking through some of the detritus, Gavin concludes that they probably found it. This stuff could have belonged to anyone of any background, with any kind of history or enemy.</p><p>Gavin wouldn’t be able to say with any kind of certainty how much time passed before Nines appears in the doorway, unflustered from running but for his windswept hair.</p><p>“Didn’t get ‘em?”</p><p>Nines runs his fingers through his hair, attempting to fix it but really just making it worse. “The suspect got away.”</p><p>Gavin grins and picks his way through the debris to him. He stands on the tips of his toes and brushes the hair out of Nines’s face, putting the strands back into their natural part. </p><p>“But do you know what they look like?” he asks,</p><p>Nines’s hair is soft, he thinks. </p><p>“I didn’t get a good look at them, no. The doorman also did not recognize the suspect.” Nines’s eyes flick across the room. “This looks… bad. Are you having any luck?”</p><p>“No. It’s just —” Gavin turns and waves his arm, gesturing generally around the room, “a bunch of crap. But there is a bed in there. Was there a roommate? A human?”</p><p>“Yes, actually. Amberly Wilson. We believe she’s the one who found the body. However, after the initial call was made to the DPD, she disappeared. Nobody knows where she is.”<br/>
Gavin sighs. “Do you see anything? Fingerprints or something?”</p><p>Nines steps further into the room, scanning — or whatever it is he does when he gets that calculating look on his face.</p><p>“Nothing. No traces of DNA or Thirium, as far as I can tell. However, I am certain that the suspect I just chased down the street is android, judging by its <em> impressive </em> display of speed, strength, and stamina. A newer model, most likely, not designed for housework.”</p><p>“And that’s all we’ve got.”</p><p>“Unfortunately, yes. This will not be easy.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I'm not qualified to write about anything in this fic except for the gay part.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Cacophony</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>For the first time since the beginning of Quinn’s deviancy, their mind is quiet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Night has set in their mind palace — which, in Quinn’s case, is literally a palace, with towers and ballrooms and a garden and an honest-to-god moat. Stars twinkle overhead and the moon beams light through the gothic-arched window into the simulated bedroom in which Quinn sits. They listen to waves lapping far below, the rhythm in tandem with their own thirium-pump-beat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The change is noticeable immediately, but Quinn doesn’t know what it is at first that’s changed, exactly. It’s just different. Less chaotic. It takes them a while to realize that the music machine in their head has stopped. The birds outside the window have ceased their constant screeching. And Quinn is able to settle into something like a peaceful sleep in that bed, content to just exist and enjoy the relative silence.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Until Alex slaps them in the face, shouting their name.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Goddammit, Quinn, please say something — or </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span> something — seriously, anything. I can’t afford to take you in for repairs.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quinn opens their eyes, blinking fragmented gridlines and shards of false reality out of their field of vision. For a moment they are disoriented, the sudden change of scenery from historic stone walls to cracked plaster ones, from feather bed to sagging couch cushions, throwing them momentarily for a loop.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They focus on Alex. Without meaning to, they scan his face. An informational bubble appears next to him, telling them things they already know and helpfully providing an old photo of him (which is unflattering, and which Alex thinks he’s erased from existence). His stress levels and heart rate are high, but he appears to be making an attempt to hide those things as he falls back into his chair.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Relationship: friend.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jesus, Quinn, I’ve been trying to get your attention, for, like, twenty minutes.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quinn blinks again, willing the display away. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Whatever.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How long was I out?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Like, five hours.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Whoa. That’s a record.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Probably could’ve been longer, too, but your LED went red. I didn’t want you to get hurt.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh.” Quinn absentmindedly rubs the spot on their temple where the little ring of light rests. They’re not entirely certain why they haven’t taken it off yet. If they had, maybe they could still be in the palace. Alone. At peace. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Irritation twinges in their chest.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How do you feel?” Alex asks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fine,” Quinn lies. The melodies are already trickling into the path of their thoughts, which are rapidly returning to the events of the past twenty-four hours — the dead android, the betrayed hurt in Amberly’s voice, Amberly’s sudden vanishing —</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Alex gives them a long look. Quinn maintains outward impassiveness.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quinn has to change the subject. Anything not to think.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We should go shopping.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Alex blinks. “Uh. What?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shopping. You know, where you go to a place and you give people money in exchange for material items you think you need but actually don’t?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know what shopping is, smartass. But — why now?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Because… we have money now?” In the three weeks since Quinn and Alex finalized their code and figured out how to distribute it, their income has increased, not just several times, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>exponentially</span>
  </em>
  <span> with every passing week.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, and that money is going to pay our rent.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quinn pouts, doing their best to make puppy-dog eyes at him. “Please? I’ve never been shopping before. I’ve never had my own money.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Alex crosses his arms in front of his chest, and then after a moment, agrees. “Fine. Just the once, to celebrate our… success.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quinn hops up off the couch, suddenly full of  sugary-sweet energy they know won’t last. “Great. Let’s go.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What? Now?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The Brimstone Valley Strip Mall is a dying establishment. It’s one of many places that failed to make necessary changes to its business model to keep up with the rapidly changing times, and it’s a miracle that it even still exists. It’s been a fixture of its community for so many years that Quinn theorizes it stays open out of the sheer collective will of the people who still shop there. It’s a relic of a time long before they were created — probably even before Alex was born — and looks like it, maintaining most of its original architecture. Quinn’s particular fascination with it stems from that; since they never had a childhood, sometimes they go back to those old places and pretend that they did, imagining what it would have been like to </span>
  <em>
    <span>grow up</span>
  </em>
  <span> and watch the world shift around them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Today, Quinn will learn what it’s like to go to one of these places and </span>
  <em>
    <span>shop,</span>
  </em>
  <span> like the people in the movies.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>By the time Quinn and Alex pull into the parking lot, it’s nearing noon. Shoppers mill about the square carrying fast food and plastic bags, talking and peering longingly through windows at things they wish they had.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They climb out of the car, Alex looking vaguely terrified.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quinn takes his hand and swings it between them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come on! Relax, we’re going to have fun.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Alex reluctantly allows himself to be pulled away from the relative safety of the parking space.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The first place they visit sells high-end clothes and overpriced jewelry. Quinn takes their time appreciating every piece, knowing that finally, after so many visits leaving empty-handed, they now have the freedom to take any one of these items home.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Alex follows them, rolling his eyes at their every </span>
  <em>
    <span>ooh </span>
  </em>
  <span>and </span>
  <em>
    <span>ah </span>
  </em>
  <span>as if he were a teenager forced to come with his parents, and despite Quinn’s repeated urging, does not take anything for himself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stifling their impulse to buy up the whole store — they haven’t had </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> much business, at least not yet — Quinn settles on a black dress with a lacy neckline and a suit-jacket that shimmers stunning colors in the light.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Alex has some inhibitions about the price of the clothes, but the time passes without incident.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They don’t even make it to the second store before Quinn sees something that makes them freeze, momentarily, in something like fear.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Three screens are lined up on the wall, each tuned to a different channel.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Each channel is a different news station, and each one is reporting the same story, one Quinn’s been trying to push out of their mind since the news first broke yesterday.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Amberly’s android roommate, a buyer of theirs regularly since three weeks ago. Mysteriously dead in their apartment.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quinn reaches for the outdated memory stick in their pocket and rubs their thumb across it, tracing the word etched into it. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Morpheus. </span>
  </em>
  <span>The stick has nothing on it, but Quinn still hasn’t been able to throw it away.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In a split second, they make a series of preconstructions and predictions based on their next possible courses of action.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>OPTION ONE: Alex will turn. He will see the screens and recognize the images of the android, the apartment, and Quinn’s friend. He will put the pieces together. He will back out of their little business. Quinn will be unable to access the code or make new versions. Alex will be angry.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>OPTION TWO: Quinn will direct his attention elsewhere — to the fancy new computers in the shop across the hall. He will not see the news. He will not know the android they sold to has died. He will continue to code. He will continue to live with Quinn. They will remain friends. THEN: Quinn will continue to redirect and distract, keeping Alex in the dark up until and beyond the point at which they figure out how to stop androids from dying. OR: Alex will see the news at some other time, when Quinn is not around.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quinn decides to take their chances with option two. Alex is never not around Quinn anyway.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They grab his shoulder just as he begins to turn towards the newscasts, startling him with the accidental ferocity of the action.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oooh, look!” They point.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What —” he looks. “Oh.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Isn’t that the new computer you’ve been blabbing on about for, like, weeks?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Alex fights a brief battle with himself behind his eyes before stammering out a weak “yes.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Let’s go look.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Now they have money, and that means freedom. They can go places now, and Alex can buy himself his new computer, and Quinn can finally wear the clothes they’ve always dreamed of — this is Quinn’s chance to finally get the most out of deviancy. What happened to Amberly’s roommate was an unfortunate accident, but it won’t happen again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The solitary melody in their head multiplies into cacophony. They need the code. They need silence. It has never been this loud before. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s for the best that they keep moving forward, Quinn tells themself. It’s all for the best.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>"Brimstone Valley Strip Mall" is indeed a nod to Christopher Trindade's roles in the podcast "Brimstone Valley Mall" because why not (also if you haven't listened to that show, do it. It's good).<br/>Will I have more references to the other DE actors' other roles?<br/>Absolutely.<br/>Anyway, thanks for sticking with me this far! I'm now up to over 28k of this disaster of a fic in my docs so I hope you decide to come back to read the rest :)<br/>- Sam</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Known Associates</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The next crime scene, the alley, is just as infuriatingly bare as the first, and not only does there appear to be nothing at the scene, the android had no friends and no family to speak of, or belongings to search.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The bar is a little better. Nines and Gavin are able to talk to the man who originally found the body — a shift manager who looks quite sick upon thinking about the ordeal — and, even better, a bartender who remembers serving the android the night of his death.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t know him,” he says, drying a clean glass with the towel he keeps draped over his heavily muscled shoulder. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The bar is a smaller place, a little off the beaten path and relatively quiet, but respectably well-kept. It’s also only a mile away from either of the other locations Gavin and Nines have visited, which makes Nines feel like there’s something major connecting them all that he’s just missing. He does </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> like the feeling.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But he was… off,” the bartender continues. “Hard to forget. Stumbles in here looking confused as hell —” he motions generally towards the door and then sweeps his hand across the room, “— and just… keeps stumbling. If he wasn’t an android, I’d’a’ said he was drunk. Never seen anything like it.” He places the glass carefully onto the rack and leans across the counter, lowering his voice. “There was someone with him. ‘Nother android, I think. Medium height, long brown hair, maybe a little less…” he draws a circle around his ear with his index finger. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Nuts.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “Never saw them leave.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can you give us any more description of the other android?” Gavin asks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I… only really saw their back and a little bit of their LED. Sorry.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Suspect has an LED. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Not a large percentage of androids still have one. It’s still not much to go on, though, only just better than nothing at all.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can you tell us what they did after coming in?” Nines inquires.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, the first android —”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The victim?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, uh. He came up and ordered thirium cocktails for both of them. Took them back. God, it was weird. Never seen an android act like that. He could barely string a sentence together. Couldn’t count his money. Oh, and —” he grabs a small sheet of paper off the counter next to the register, “he tried to pay me with this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He hands them the paper, and now Nines can see that there is something written on it in hasty handwriting. He can barely make it out, but it appears to be an address. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Interesting. May we take this?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The bartender shrugs. “Sure. I got no use for it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you.” Nines folds it up and pockets it. “Is there anything else you remember about that night?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sighs. He looks away. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Right: recalling memory.</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nah. Sorry. That’s all I got.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, thanks anyway,” Gavin says. “You’ve been a big help.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good luck on your investigation.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What do you think that address is?” Gavin asks once they’ve returned to his car.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nines doesn’t have to guess. “Calypso. It’s an underground android… hangout. ”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A— what?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They have android… parties… Every week. Apparently they are quite something.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I— how do you know this?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know everything. I am the most advanced android ever made.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin starts the car and pulls out. “Seriously, asshole.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve been invited to a few of them myself,” Nines says, lifting his chin. It has, in fact, been more than a few. A letter (an actual, physical paper letter) shows up at his apartment almost twice a week.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin sputters and struggles to keep his eyes on the road. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Seriously? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Who would invite </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>to a party?” He grins. “Did you go?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, of course not. I’m sure there are a number of illegal activities happening there. I would rather not have to arrest dozens of my own kind all at once. They are… mostly harmless.” He doesn’t want to admit that he hates large social gatherings. He hates the noise, and the crush of too many bodies in one place. He hates the overload of information and external stimuli. He hates small-talk with strangers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This time, Gavin does glance at him. He looks like he might say something, but he refrains.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nines continues. “However, I do think we should make an appearance there this week. There is a chance we could come across something relevant to our case, especially if there are other androids present who were acquainted with the victims.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>We</span>
  </em>
  <span>? Oh, no. No no.” Clearly, Gavin shares a similar opinion of parties.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Gavin, I cannot work the case by myself,” Nines says. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Please</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he does not say, but he knows Gavin can hear it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fine. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Fine. We’ll go to the stupid party. When is it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tomorrow night.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin makes a strangled noise.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It will be fine, Gavin. I can hold your hand all the way through, if that would make you feel better.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shut the fuck up, Tin Can,” Gavin mutters. “‘M not a baby.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nines laughs. “There are others I know would argue otherwise.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>thirty-five!</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And I’m less than two years old, but we both know that I’m the adult in this relationship. Clearly, age is not relevant.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin opens and closes his mouth, wordlessly, like a fish. Then after a moment, he says. “Do you have anything to wear? You know, that doesn’t make you look like you have a stick up your ass?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course I do. Do you have clothes that don’t make you look like an old drunk?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin rolls his eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Where are we going?” Nines asks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, I looked into the first victim’s known associates, and someone in the apartment complex told me there was an android who came by a lot. We’re going to pay them a little visit.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“When did you have time to do that?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“While you were busy putting a whatever out on that missing woman. Amberly. I do actually do things when you’re not around, you know.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Impressive. I had no idea you were capable of detective work on your own.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin comes to a stop in front of a building almost identical to the one they’d visited earlier, although in the evening light it appears to be in an even more advanced state of disrepair. Nines identifies a number of fairly serious structural issues within seconds and makes a note to notify someone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Let’s go.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The pair are met at the door of a second-floor apartment by an android of medium height with long brown hair. Nines watches as Gavin’s heart rate spikes. He noticed it too — the android matches the description of the victim’s companion given to them by the bartender.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Something is wrong with their eyes. Blue light flashes behind them and it takes a moment for the android to take in the badge Gavin holds up, as if they are having trouble focusing their vision. Nines has never seen anything quite like it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?” the android asks, somewhat blearily. They open the door just enough to be able to slip into the hall, then shut it quickly behind them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Stress level: high. </span>
  </em>
  <span>There is something in there they don’t want the police to see.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“My uh… my roommate's asleep. Otherwise I’d invite you in.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The android blinks, once, twice. The sparks fade. They relax. They smile, a kind of smile that’s intended to put people at ease. The shift is so quick it’s almost jarring.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Stress level: decreasing.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nines runs another quick scan.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It is rare for NInes to be surprised by anything; his particular abilities are designed with the intent to make it an impossibility. And yet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What can I do for you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>RK500. Serial number </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>313-247-316-01</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>. Year: 2036. No registered name. </span>
  </em>
  <span>A predecessor Nines didn’t know he had until this very moment.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well— we’re— we—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin, puzzled, picks up Nines’s sentence. “We’re looking into the death of an HK400. We think you may have known her. She went by the name of Simone?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The RK500’s face falls. “Yeah. Yeah, I knew her.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you know of anyone who would have wanted to hurt her?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, no, she was always so nice. Everybody loved her.” They gasp. “You think someone killed her? I heard it was an accident.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Like I said, we’re looking into it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We think her death may be connected to two others. The circumstances are very similar. Did you know a PL600 by the name of Ella or an AP700 by the name of Carson?” Nines asks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I— Yeah, I did. Not well but… oh my god. They’re—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Unfortunately, yes.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But they were both—” The RK500, in lieu of breathing deeply, blinks rapidly as they collect themself. “That’s awful.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Were you in contact with any of them recently?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, actually.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How did they seem to you? Normal?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Now that you mention it… no. They were all a little antsy when they came around. Nervous, maybe.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Really?” Gavin raises an eyebrow. “Did they by any chance tell you why?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No. But things were not easy for them, even this long after the revolution. They had trouble getting on their feet, and… you know how it is. There’s all kinds of anti-android sentiment around here. It could have been a hate crime,” they added.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That is a possibility, yes. Is there anyone in particular you think would have wanted to hurt them?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They shake their head. “I couldn’t give you any names, sorry.” They glance back at the door. Footsteps can be heard from inside the apartment, most likely belonging to the android’s roommate. “Listen, I should probably go, but—” Their lips quirk up in a small smile, sly and mischievous and clever — and somehow wrong. Unnerving. They step closer to Gavin, looking straight into his eyes. They pluck Gavin’s pen and notepad out of his hand and scribble something down.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey— what—” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As they give it back, Nines can see enough of the page to tell that they’ve written down a phone number.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But… if you have any other questions, feel free to call. The name’s Quinn.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They wink — actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>wink</span>
  </em>
  <span> — before slipping back into their apartment.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin stares down at the paper, uncomprehending. “What was that?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I believe what they were doing was… flirting.” Nines clenches his jaw involuntarily. It </span>
  <em>
    <span>shouldn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> bother him, but it does.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I can’t satisfy anything Gavin desires beyond our current partnership.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Nines, I don’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>care. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I don’t need any of that.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Quit being irrational, Nines.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin tucks the notepad into the pocket of his hooded jacket. “Huh.” He starts walking, and Nines falls into step beside him. For a moment, they walk in silence. Then Gavin smirks and pokes him gently in the shoulder. “Aw, are you mad?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No— no, I’m just—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin slides his hand into Nines’s.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You stupid, jealous son of a bitch. I’m not going to just go off with some random android just because—” he laughs and shakes his head. “They’ve got nothin’ on you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The look Gavin gives him — his eyes, full of very human sincerity, crinkling up at the edges, his smirk replaced with a soft and so utterly genuine smile — makes Nines think he might just melt. What the hell happened to asshole Gavin?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nines rubs Gavin’s knuckle gently with his thumb.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Anyway,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Gavin continues, “I think Quinn’s hiding something from us. Something big.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nines nods. “I agree, and it’s not just that they’re an RK500.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“RK? Like you? I thought it was just… you and Connor and Ada and Markus.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Me too. But I suppose it makes sense for there to have been something between RK200 and RK800. That is quite a jump.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hm. Yeah. Well, we should see if that roommate they mentioned knows anything.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, another day. It’s getting late. We should head back to the station.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Quinn, who was that?” Alex asks, coming out of the bedroom. He was not asleep at all, just reading. Devouring books may be the only hobby he has that isn’t also how he makes money. He also keeps paper books, the nerd. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quinn locks the door behind them and puts on their best everything-is-fine-no-one-has-died face, which seems to work.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nobody. Just some dudes collecting money for their church.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You were out there for a while.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“One of the guys was cute.” Detective Reed, they think is his name. Attractive, but probably an alcoholic, by the looks of him, and quite possibly a dick. Not to mention very much in love with his partner, judging by the way he leaned into the android’s protective presence.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh-huh.” Alex plops into his desk chair and spins around to face his (new) computer. “Anyway, I think I figured out how we can make this thing last a little longer. If I change this little bit here…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quinn is no longer listening. A notification has appeared in the corner of their optical display.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Android involved in vicious murder of 25-year-old Asa Greene found dead. Victim was attacked outside Sharpe’s Bar after an argument with the suspect less than an hour before suspect's body was found. Suspect’s identity and cause of death still unknown.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The news is accompanied by a series of images.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quinn recognizes the android. A buyer of theirs from just over two weeks ago who, as of a month ago, was a staunch believer in peaceful solutions to android-human tensions. Who, when Quinn had last seen her, didn’t have the physical or psychological capability to attack anyone like this. Who wanted nothing more than a way to stop the noise in her head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Shit.</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>As ever, thanks to Sparrow (<a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/legendtripper">legendtripper</a>) for being awesome and also probably a genius, and thank YOU for reading!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. I Don't Care What's In Your Hair</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>*aggressive ukulele*</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Gavin wakes up to the smell of bacon, buttered toast, eggs, and fresh coffee, the sound of sizzling grease, and sun streaming in through his window directly into his eyes (he suspects Nines drew back the curtains for that very effect).</p>
<p>Even though he grumbles in annoyance, he’s remarkably content. For once, his sleep was uninterrupted by nightmares, and waking up didn’t feel like a chore. He stays in bed not because he doesn’t feel prepared to face the day, but because the bed is warm and the birds are singing and breakfast smells heavenly and <em> Nines </em>is bustling about in his kitchen and he is safe.</p>
<p>He stretches out languidly and yawns, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. His cat jumps up on the bed, meowing, and he scratches the fucker behind the ears. It isn’t until she decides she wants to sit on his face that he pushes her away, muttering the word “bitch” at her, and gets out of bed. </p>
<p>“Good morning, Gavin,” Nines says as Gavin shuffles out of the bedroom into the living room-kitchen, which he once heard described as “open-concept.” Nines is behind the stove, wearing a ridiculous cat-patterned t-shirt Gavin bought for him as a joke. There is somehow bacon grease in his hair.</p>
<p>“Mornin’ Tin Can.”</p>
<p>After carefully setting the last slice of bacon onto a paper-towel-covered plate and switching off the stove, Nines turns to smile at him. </p>
<p>“You made bacon,” Gavin says.</p>
<p>“Yes, I did.”</p>
<p>“What’s the occasion?”</p>
<p>“I saw some in your fridge. I assumed you preferred to eat it cooked.”</p>
<p>Gavin laughs. In a few strides he is across the room, kissing his boyfriend right on his smartass mouth. </p>
<p>“What in the <em> world </em>did I do to deserve you?” he asks.</p>
<p>“I don’t know, Gavin. Sometimes I wonder if I’m a little <em> too </em>good to you.”</p>
<p>“Prick.” He kisses Nines again. There is bacon grease on his fingers when he pulls away slightly, his arms still draped around Nines’s shoulders.</p>
<p>“You’re in a good mood today,” Nines says, a note of suspicion in his voice. “Did something happen? Did you do something?”</p>
<p>“Am I not allowed to just be happy?”</p>
<p>“Gavin.”<br/>
“Okay, fine. You wanna know what happened? You made bacon. I fuckin’ love bacon.” <em>I love you. I want to wake up to this every morning. </em></p>
<p>Nines presses his lips to Gavin’s forehead for a moment. “If you insist that is all this is. But as much as I like to see you so happy, don’t expect bacon every morning. It’s not very healthy.”</p>
<p>
  <em> I don’t need bacon. I don’t even need eggs or toast or coffee.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Just you. </em>
</p>
<p>God, Nines has made him soft.</p>
<p>“Hmph. Fine.” He rests his head on Nines’s shoulder and exhales. Nines strokes the unruly curls on the back of his head, and Gavin both loves and hates it for how <em> nice </em>it feels.</p>
<p>“You should eat your breakfast before it gets cold.”</p>
<p>“Hm? Oh. Yeah.”</p>
<p>It’s already a little cold by the time Gavin actually sits down and eats, but it’s delicious anyway. For someone who can’t actually eat, Nines has become a good cook.</p>
<p>Gavin expresses this sentiment to Nines as he sits down across from him. The table is so small their knees knock together. Gavin never really planned to have someone else in the apartment. Nines’s chair doesn’t even come from the same set; Gavin found it in storage for him, despite his insistence that he did not <em> need </em>to sit at the table.</p>
<p>“Thank you,” Nines says, inclining his head.</p>
<p>“Does it ever bother you? You know, that you can’t eat?”</p>
<p>“Not really. It is difficult to miss something I can barely comprehend, such as taste. However, I do sometimes wish I could tell whether or not it’s edible, if not for me then for you.”</p>
<p>“Aww.”</p>
<p>“Shut up.”</p>
<p>Gavin finishes his last bites and stands to put the plate away. “Thank you,” he says. </p>
<p>“You don’t need to thank me. I enjoy cooking for you.”</p>
<p>“Okay, come on. That’s enough of the sappy stuff.” Gavin sets his plate in the sink. Heads to the couch.</p>
<p>“You like the ‘sappy stuff,’” Nines says, taking his usual place between Gavin and the arm of the couch.</p>
<p>“I do <em> not </em>.”</p>
<p>“You’re a child.”</p>
<p>“You love me.” Gavin grabs the front of Nines’s ridiculous shirt and pulls him in for another kiss.</p>
<p>
  <em> Stay here with me. Let’s do this every morning. </em>
</p>
<p>Nines’s lips and hair are soft against his skin. He smells like bacon and coffee. Gavin wants to live in this moment forever.</p>
<p>Nines is right— he <em> does </em>like the sappy stuff.</p>
<p>Eventually they settle into the cushions, Nines resting his head on Gavin’s chest, their hearts beating together, fingers intertwined. Gavin flicks on the TV and switches to a random channel, but he doesn’t really watch. His thoughts are elsewhere.</p>
<p>All he has to do is ask. It’ll just take six words.</p>
<p>Or maybe just four. <em> Move in with me. </em>Does he really have to make it a question? They already practically live together.</p>
<p>But what if it does need to be a question? What if Nines doesn’t see it the same way? What if Nines <em> does </em>move in and decides he doesn’t like it?</p>
<p>He feels his hands start to sweat. His heart begins to outpace his partner’s.</p>
<p>“Gavin, what’s wrong?” Nines looks up at him, his brow furrowed.</p>
<p>“Nothing. I’m fine.”</p>
<p>How could someone as wonderful as Nines care about him like this? Nines could have had anyone he wanted, and he chose Gavin fucking Reed, the DPD’s resident back of dicks. What does he see? What if Nines has a mistaken impression of him, even after all this time?<br/>
“Gavin, you’re showing signs of a panic attack.” Nines’s voice is steady. He adjusts so that they’re face-to-face, but Gavin looks down into his lap, unable to meet the android’s eyes.</p>
<p>“I’m not— It’s—” Gavin suddenly can’t seem to breathe properly. He thought he was <em> over </em> this. </p>
<p>
  <em> You’re not good enough, Gavin Reed. </em>
</p>
<p>“Gavin. Look at me.” Nines gently lifts Gavin’s chin. He pulls Gavin’s fists — they’re clenched, he didn’t even realize — away from his torso and holds them between them. His electric blue eyes capture Gavin’s darting gaze. “Breathe. Do you need to talk about something?”</p>
<p>“Nines I—” his voice catches in his throat. He can’t get the words out. He can’t articulate just how inferior he feels, just how much he <em> loves </em> him, how much he wants things to stay the same, how much he wants Nines to stay, how much he’s <em> scared </em> even though it hardly seems rational to be. “Not yet.”</p>
<p>
  <em> You’re such a coward, Gavin Reed. </em>
</p>
<p>“Whenever you’re ready, Gavin. Just— let me help you if you need it. Please.”</p>
<p>Gavin nods. “Okay.”</p>
<p>
  <em> Happiness never lasts, Gavin. You know that. </em>
</p>
<p>He squeezes his eyes shut and buries his face in the crook of Nines’s neck. He breathes. Nines places his hand on Gavin’s back, and when he doesn’t object to the touch, rubs small gentle circles. It takes a while, but Gavin relaxes. Grounds himself to this moment. To the person he loves.</p>
<p>They will figure it out. They have time. They always have time.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The detectives don’t have to be at the station until the afternoon, so Gavin and Nines pass the time watching movies, cuddling, kissing, talking, laughing. It ends a little too early for Gavin’s tastes.</p>
<p>Gavin is lying on his back on the couch, one hand on his stomach and the other over his head, hanging over the arm of the couch, when Nines emerges from the bedroom buttoning up a fresh black shirt (he has a drawer).</p>
<p>“Do we have to go?” he asks.</p>
<p>“We have murders to solve. Lives to save. We cannot let those fall by the wayside simply because you feel lazy. I assume you would also like to keep your job.”</p>
<p>“Fuck that.” Gavin hides his face in a pillow.</p>
<p>“Which one? Lives or your job?”</p>
<p>“Mmph. Both. Just wanna stay here.”</p>
<p>“So do I. But I do not think your future self would be very happy with you if you stayed.”</p>
<p>Nines has a point.</p>
<p>“Ugh. Fine.” Gavin rolls off the couch and heads to the bedroom to get changed.</p>
<p>When he reemerges, Nines has donned his signature white coat (which Gavin loves, not that he would ever say that). Gavin joins him by the door.</p>
<p>Nines grins at him. “Detroit thanks you.” He pecks Gavin on the cheek.</p>
<p>“Yeah, yeah, Detroit, you’re welcome.”</p>
<p>But Gavin thinks maybe he’s the one who should be thanking Detroit, for giving him a reason to see Nines like this — as a friend, as a partner, as a lover, and in a way he’d once assumed he never could.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Scratch that. Gavin thanks Detroit for giving him a reason to see Nines like <em> this.  </em></p>
<p>When Nines said he was going to change into something “more casual,” Gavin assumed he was going to come back into the break room having traded his black button-up for a t-shirt and maybe opted for jeans instead of his usual black pants. </p>
<p>He did not expect — not in a million years, not for any reason — that he would ever see Nines dressed like this. He’s wearing a tight crew-neck t-shirt, white with horizontal black stripes, under an olive green jacket. A black choker adorns his neck and round glasses are perched on his nose, and bracelets hang from both wrists. He’s even changed his hair from dark brown to a dirty blond and styled it with gel.</p>
<p>He is also wearing black <em> leather pants. </em></p>
<p>Gavin chokes on his coffee, feeling warmth rising into his cheeks. Chris pats him on the back as Tina cackles at his expense.</p>
<p>“You okay, buddy?” Chris asks.</p>
<p>“Fine,” Gavin barely manages to get out. There is coffee on his hands and all over the table, and he’s pretty sure some of it came out of his nose. “Shit.” His face, neck, and ears are on <em> fire. </em></p>
<p>Nines, the smug bastard, stands in the doorway with his hands behind his back, chin up, giving that stupid smile, lips pursed and crooked. </p>
<p>“Is something the matter, Detective Reed?” he asks, clearly holding back laughter. </p>
<p>“What the <em> fuck. </em> Is that?” Gavin coughs.</p>
<p>“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”<br/>
“Yes you do. What in the <em>hell </em>are you wearing?” </p>
<p>“Oh, this?” Nines gestures at his getup. “I’m undercover.”</p>
<p>“<em> Undercover? </em> You’re going to attract a lot of attention in <em> that </em>. You look like a twink.”</p>
<p>“He <em> always </em> looks like a twink, Gavin,” Tina says.</p>
<p>“You’re right,” Gavin says, pointing at her, and then at Nines. “Nines, this is like, Twink Plus. King of Twinks.”</p>
<p>Nines opens his mouth and holds up a finger to object, then glances back down at himself and lowers it. </p>
<p>“Where we’re going, I will blend in just fine.” He looks back up at Gavin. “I am just here to let you know that I will be leaving in ten minutes, with or without you.”<br/>
“Alright, asshole, just give me a minute to get cleaned up.” He watches as Nines turns and walks away.</p>
<p>“Close your mouth, you idiot,” Tina says, pressing one paper towel into his right hand and the other into his face. </p>
<p>Gavin closes his mouth. He yanks the towel out of Tina’s hand and cleans his own face, because he is <em> not </em> a baby. Once that’s dry, Tina hands him another one for the table.</p>
<p>“So, Nines, huh?”</p>
<p>“Shut up.”</p>
<p>“I was just gonna say what we’re all thinking.”</p>
<p>“Say another word and I <em> will </em>shoot you.”</p>
<p>Chris looks vaguely confused.</p>
<p>Gavin doesn’t have any clean clothes at the station, so he’s lucky that he only ended up with a small wet spot at the bottom edge of his shirt, which will dry quickly enough. </p>
<p>Just under ten minutes, Gavin and Nines are in the parking garage in front of Gavin’s car. Nines has his arms crossed and his eyes are narrowed, silently judging the poor old thing.</p>
<p>“We cannot take this car.”</p>
<p>“What? What’s wrong with my car?”</p>
<p>“It will stick out at the party. It will look like someone’s father is present.”</p>
<p>“Well—” Gavin throws his arms up. “How else do you suggest we get there? Bus?”</p>
<p>“No, actually, I was thinking we could take my motorcycle.”</p>
<p>“Your… what.”</p>
<p>“How do you think I get around the city when you’re not driving me?”</p>
<p>“Uhh… not like that.”</p>
<p>Nines leads Gavin down to the ground-level section of the garage. And of course, there’s the motorcycle, clean and white and cool as fuck. Gavin remembers seeing it here, when he thinks about it, he just never associated it with his partner. Because why would he?</p>
<p>Nines tosses him the helmet hanging from the handlebars and hops on. Gavin always knew the android could be a badass when he wanted to be, but he still feels like he’s seeing him for the first time— not that he’s going to complain about it. On the contrary, he’s afraid he’s about to spontaneously combust.</p>
<p>“Well?” Nines motions for Gavin to join him. “What are you waiting for? Let’s go.”</p>
<p>It takes a moment for Gavin to unstick his feet from the floor and climb onto the bike behind Nines. He wraps his arms around his boyfriend’s waist, and they take off.</p>
<p>It’s probably a good thing that the android doesn’t need to breathe, otherwise he would likely have passed out from the sheer strength of Gavin’s grip. The truth is that Gavin has never actually ridden a motorcycle before, and the speed and the fact that there is nothing actually securing him to the seat terrifies him at first. But Gavin understands why Nines likes it so much. There’s something strangely liberating about it, too. By the time they arrive, Gavin has begun to think of it as less terrifying, more exhilarating.</p>
<p>They park the bike on the side of the street, and Gavin follows Nines behind a closed laundromat called Alessandro’s (except most of the letters are burned out so that the sign looks like it says “ASS,” which Gavin points out, to Nines’s utter dismay), to an alley. Nines stops abruptly, apparently studying the wall. He draws a card out of his pocket. Nines’s LED spins yellow for a moment and the image— Gavin can’t really tell what it is— shimmers and then changes entirely.</p>
<p>“What is that?” he asks, coming closer so he can see. It looks like a photograph taken by someone who doesn’t know what a camera is, just the corner of a building with a little bit of graffiti, a slice of sidewalk leading off the corner of the card, and half of a streetlamp.</p>
<p>“It’s a map. Kind of.”</p>
<p>“That. Is a map?”</p>
<p>“In the loosest sense of the term, yes. This image, it’s a place. We have to go to that place to find another one of these.” Nines points at the wall. Before, Gavin thought it was just blank. But now that he looks a little closer, he can see that there’s a little symbol etched into it, a complicated combination of circles and lines.</p>
<p>“Okay… and what is that?”</p>
<p>“It’s a code. Looking at it updates the card and tells me where to go next.”</p>
<p>“I don’t… understand how that works.”</p>
<p>Nines says words, and Gavin processes none of them, mostly because he has never heard any of them before. At Gavin’s blank look, Nines tries again.</p>
<p>“It’s like a QR code, except my eyes are the smartphone, and instead of taking me to a webpage, the code updates the card.”</p>
<p>“...Right.” Gavin still doesn’t <em> quite </em> get it. But, he realizes, he does recognize the location in the photo; he’s walked these streets for years. “I know where that is, come on.” </p>
<p>It’s a couple of minutes away, a coffee shop Gavin used to frequent back before he made detective and moved out of the neighborhood. The symbol is painted into the graffiti that covers the back of the building, which the coffee shop has designated a “communal artboard” or something like that.</p>
<p>The image on the card changes again. </p>
<p>“That’s just a manhole cover,” says Gavin, even though Nines has eyes and can see that it’s a manhole cover. “How are we supposed to tell <em> which </em>manhole cover it is?” Then it hits him.  “Wait, wait, no. Look at those cobblestones. There’s only, like, one block in the entire city that looks like that.” Streets haven’t been paved like that for decades, maybe even longer, and at this point, most of those old streets have been replaced with asphalt, and then replaced again, and again (because humans can make androids but can’t figure out how to make roads that don’t get potholes). “The— the historic district. With the shops. Just a few blocks south.”</p>
<p>He’s right. There’s a mark on that manhole cover, too. But the card doesn’t change.</p>
<p>“This must be it.” Nines (casually, as if it were the easiest thing in the world) lifts the cover. Faint bass sounds emanate from the opening.</p>
<p>“Ladies first,” Gavin says.</p>
<p>Nines’s face scrunches up in that cute way it does when he’s trying to figure out whether he should be flattered or offended, laugh or frown, and ends up just being confused (which is kinda the whole reason why he said that in the first place).</p>
<p>Gavin follows Nines down the hole, into the sewer.</p>
<p>For a sewer, it’s actually pretty clean, and someone has painted arrows in glow-in-the-dark paint (at least, Gavin hopes it’s paint) on the ground, leading them closer to the source of the music. Said source turns out to be an open area, a hollow of sorts, attached to the sewer. Gavin can’t tell what the original purpose of the space was, in part because he knows nothing about sewers and in part because it has been decked out in lights and glitter to the point where it’s difficult to make out where the actual walls are. A crowd of humans and androids just as sparkly as the decor dance— or maybe the more accurate term is <em> writhe </em>— around a slightly raised platform on which stands an android DJ surrounded by equipment, while a few outliers stand around the edges of the group, talking and drinking. Gavin ignores the constricted feeling in his chest, the nausea rising from his stomach— he is on a case. He has a job to do.</p>
<p>He is going to do it.</p>
<p>“So what are we looking for?” he asks, shouting to even hear his own voice over the heavy music. He looks over. Nines has his eyes squeezed shut, his hands balled into fists. HIs LED flashes yellow and red. His jaw is clenched.</p>
<p>Nines is struggling just as much as he is. Perfect, stubborn, smug, unflappable Nines. </p>
<p>“You okay?”</p>
<p>Nines clenches and unclenches his fists. Gavin steps in front of him, reaches out and touches Nines’s knuckles lightly. </p>
<p>“Do you need to leave? I can do this. I can take this one. If you need to sit out— please don’t short-circuit on me, Tin Can.”</p>
<p>Nines shakes his head. His LED steadies at yellow.</p>
<p>“Too many— too many inputs.” </p>
<p>Of course. The most advanced android ever made, designed to see and hear everything. </p>
<p>“Okay just— remember this morning, what you told me. Look at me. Br—” <em> Nines doesn’t breathe, idiot. </em> “Just focus on my voice. Look.” Gavin makes direct eye contact with him and holds it. “We’re just gonna do our job, and we’re gonna get the hell out of here. You can do this, Terminator.” </p>
<p>And it doesn’t <em> fix </em> anything. It doesn’t make the noise and the lights and the smell of metal and sewage and sweat disappear. Nines is still struggling, just as Gavin is. But he sets his jaw and he nods. Gavin takes a deep breath. </p>
<p>And they plunge into the crowd, not having any clue what they’re doing.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I made a <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7iAbmcMlOIvDu24fd6Uz82?si=uoxjKmYPSdqDufDfVbH0cA">playlist</a> for this fic yay</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Morpheus</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Sorry for the delay in getting this chapter up! These past couple of weeks have been absolutely wild, and although this story is technically finished, I just haven't had the time or the WiFi connection to edit and post. Anyway enjoy and as ever thanks so much to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/legendtripper">legendtripper</a> for being fantastic.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Quinn spots the detectives immediately. Clearly the android is “undercover,” and the human just doesn’t look like police, but the problem with their disguises is that neither is </span>
  <em>
    <span>feeling</span>
  </em>
  <span> the part. They stick out not because they look different, but because they both obviously really, really don’t want to be there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quinn wonders how they even ended up here. They wonder who told them about this place. A flash of anger rises up in them. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>That person will pay.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>They whip around to face Alex, who’s leaning against the grimy wall with his arms crossed, surveying the crowd, a small cloth bag hanging from his wrist. If this had been any other party, Quinn would have dragged him onto the dance floor, telling him he needed to </span>
  <em>
    <span>loosen up a little. </span>
  </em>
  <span>But this </span>
  <em>
    <span>isn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> any other party. And Quinn just wants to go home, back to the quiet and the tranquility of the Code.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And they probably </span>
  <em>
    <span>would</span>
  </em>
  <span> go back to the apartment, if not for Alex. They remind themself that this is for him. For his food. His water. His shelter. His HRT.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Relationship: Error. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Roommate--  confidante— brother— friend— </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Error.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Alexandro Ramirez: Annoyance— ERROR.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Quinn blinks away the messages, and they can see their red LED reflected in Alex’s glasses. They reach into their pocket and wrap their fingers around the memory stick, squeezing it so hard they’re sure there would be blue marks on their palm from where its edges dug into their synthetic skin if they checked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Give me that.” They snatch the bag from Alex and undo the drawstring. They pull out one of the memory sticks and tosses the bag back. “Do what you want with that.” Quinn says, hearing the dismissiveness in their own voice and wondering why they can’t seem to care.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They slip into the crowd, allowing themself to get swept away among the android and human revelers. They keep eyes on the two detectives, tracking their movements across the floor. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Objective: Incapacitate RK900.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>They bump into someone they know—not a friend, but a buyer—and before she can move on, they press the stick into her hand, their skin retracted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They send the other android their intent. Shows her the target, the goal, in the brief moment their fingers brush together. The other android nods, giving them a lopsided, knowing smile, and disappears.</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Who’s ready for the </span>
  <em>
    <span>retro hour?” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The music has stopped and the crowd is still but cheering at the DJ, who pumps his fist and smashes the play button. Something horrible blasts from the speakers, so loud that Nines can feel the ground shake beneath them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin scoffs, his head bobbing a little to the beat. “Skrillex isn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>retro.</span>
  </em>
  <span> I’m not </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>old, am I?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Skrillex was popular before most of these people even existed. You’re probably older than 90% of everyone here by at least twenty years.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin looks around at the crowd, which is comprised mostly of androids who look about his age. “Okay, that’s just weird to think about.” He shakes his head. “Whatever. I don’t think we’re going to get anywhere here. We should go talk to some of them.” He tilts his head towards the stragglers hanging out in the darkened fringes of the room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nines can do that. He can talk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Or maybe not.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He and Gavin sidle up to a group of androids standing in a vague circle who look mostly non-threatening. They’re all dressed pretty similarly to Nines, all fishnets and leather and denim and black eyeshadow, glitter everywhere. Nines shoots Gavin a look—</span>
  <em>
    <span>told you so.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello,” he says to the android next to him, an AX400 with blue hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She glares at him. He smiles, or at least, he tries to. He’s not sure if he appears casual or pained.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is your name?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kyra,” she says, her eyes wandering, not invested in their less-than-conversation in the least. Her arms are crossed. She is wearing combat boots with high heels. On second-thought, maybe she doesn’t really look non-threatening. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t know how to proceed. He just stands there for a moment, searching for his next words.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span> something?” she asks, finally making eye contact.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nines opens his mouth but doesn’t get to say anything. There’s Gavin, shoving him gently aside with his shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, is this guy bothering you?” He’s all smiles and charm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin turns to him. There is zero recognition on his face whatsoever. “Listen, man. You gotta leave her alone. Get lost.” He gives Nines a light push on the shoulder with his palm, and Nines, at this point finally catching on, stumbles back as if there was actual force behind it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin now has Kyra’s full attention. She’s giving him an appraising look, for which Gavin returns a glittering smile. They strike up a conversation, and Nines watches from a distance as she opens up to him little by little.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Who </span>
  </em>
  <span>is</span>
  <em>
    <span> this man?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Nines has to wonder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin returns to him after a few minutes waving his phone. He got her </span>
  <em>
    <span>number</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nines gapes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And that, Nines, is how it’s done. Pretty good, right?” He puffs out his chest a little. “I’ve still got it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Unless you got any real information from her, you’re enjoying this success too much.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pfft. Nah. I’m enjoying it just enough.” He grins at Nines. He realizes that for all the looks he’s seen Gavin give, this one seems to be reserved just for him. It makes him feel a little better. “But, no. I didn’t get anything. We’ll have to keep trying. Think you can do that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course I can. Now that I’ve… warmed up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin laughs. “Okay. Let’s see it then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nines takes stock of the people around him, this time calculating his chances of success with each and every one. The noise quiets as his mind starts to sharpen its focus.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin’s cocked his head at him. “Uh, Nines? What are you doing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shh.” Tucked into the very back corner of the space, hardly even visible, sits an open bar, behind which shelves are stocked with bottles of both thirium and regular alcohol. The bartender has watchful eyes that take in everything, making him someone Nines thinks would have some kind of useful information. There’s only one person at the bar, a GJ500 in a red dress that reaches the floor, a slit down one side exposing just a little bit of synthskin. She looks relaxed. In charge. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nines takes a seat next to her and orders a drink. He waits until the bartender has handed it to him, and the other android is beginning to eye him interestedly before he speaks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello,” he says, not turning his head but just flicking his gaze over to them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re new,” she says.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes. I am. You must come here often to know that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She laughs, and the sound is suave and confident. “I do.” She squints at him through the shifting lighting. “But, actually, I do know you.” She takes a sip from her glass. Nines has never seen a drink quite like hers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You do?” Maybe more people have read about him than he thought. He wonders if he can request for CyberLife to take his files down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah.” Another sip. “I send you an invite every week.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nines starts. “You… personally?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Obviously. I run this joint. You think I just let anyone down here?” A deep swig. “I hand pick every single guest on my list.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You hand picked… everyone here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not what I said.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why pick me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because,” she shrugs. “Why not? You’re brilliant. You’re… cute. Your wit is legendary. I wanted to meet you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How do you—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Very little happens in Detroit that I don’t know about.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now he turns to face her fully. He leans forward, one elbow still resting on the bar. “You know why I’m here, then.” Thank god, he might not have to flirt his way through this one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She sighs. “Of course. A detective such as yourself could only have </span>
  <em>
    <span>suddenly </span>
  </em>
  <span>decided to grace us with his presence tonight for one reason. I wish it wasn’t so.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you know them?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The victims. The dead androids.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, yes I did. Frequent visitors of mine. Unfortunate, what happened to them. Terrible.” She doesn’t seem all that upset about it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you know of anyone who would have wanted to hurt them?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Nines. That’s your first mistake. Assuming it was intentional.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re saying their deaths were accidents?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not exactly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nines forces himself not to clench his jaw in annoyance.  “What, then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She sticks out her bottom lip. “Wouldn’t be any fun if I told you, now, would it?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is an official police investigation, not a game. Any information you may have is important to bringing a perpetrator, if there is one, to justice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Everything’s a game, detective. One day, when you get tired of your dull human job, you’ll learn.” She leans in, close enough that if she breathed, Nines would be able to feel it. Her eyes, bright purple, bore into him. He pulls back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My job isn’t dull. I love it.”</span>
</p><p><span>“Why?”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Because I know that I am doing good.”</span></p><p>
  <span>“Good?” she sits back, tosses her head, lets out another laugh. “Who cares about </span>
  <em>
    <span>good, </span>
  </em>
  <span>detective, when you can have </span>
  <em>
    <span>fun?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>And then suddenly her lips are on his, her hands on the back of his neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nines removes her fingers from his skin and pushes her away. He stands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If someday your priorities and mine ever align, do let me know. The DPD could use a contact like you.” He stalks off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin’s already caught up in conversation with someone else when Nines finds him again. He gives Nines about half a glance in acknowledgement. He’s not talking about the case. He’s debating about Skrillex. Passionately. After a couple of minutes, he gets fed up and turns back to Nines.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kind of. He still can’t seem to make eye contact.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Made any progress?” he asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not really. You?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nope. I’m ready to get the hell out of here. This is just—” he passes his hand over his eyes. “Pointless. Unless, you know, you’d like to stay with your girlfriend over there.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gavin, did you see— are you mad about the kiss?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Should I be?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course not. I was doing my job. </span>
  <em>
    <span>She </span>
  </em>
  <span>kissed </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I ended it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin finally looks him in the eye. “Okay then. I’ll be over it tomorrow morning.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nines feels some tension he didn’t know he was holding in release. “Listen, Gavin. I think there’s still something here. Something we’re just… barely missing.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Yeah, maybe. So you want to stick around?” Gavin rubs the back of his head, searching through the crowd again. He exhales. “Let’s split up again. We’ll cover more ground, that way. Get out of this place sooner.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nines nods once. And then Gavin is gone, and he’s alone again in the middle of a crowd, looking for his next target. Hopefully someone who doesn’t speak in riddles and sticky flirtations.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then he feels someone slide up behind him. Way too close. He blinks, uncomfortable, as she wraps her fingers over his shoulders and holds him in place. Her lips are at his ear, and she is whispering something.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Take this.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She forces his hand open. Drops something small and plastic into his palm. He catches her wrist, whipping her around to face him. Their noses are close. She’s almost as tall as him. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What is it?</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The Code.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The Code?</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She smiles. Wicked. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Morpheus. It’ll take you away from here.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>To where?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She looks away, doesn’t answer his question. He follows her gaze.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>How many of these androids do you think are really here? Their eyes.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>And she’s right. There’s something wrong with their eyes. They don’t see the room. They don’t see people. Maybe they don’t even hear the music, swaying out of time.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>They’re all… away?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Most of them.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Are you here?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Barely.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Why would you want to leave?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Why wouldn’t you? What is there here for you?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>So many things. Nines doesn’t say that. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What do I do with this? </span>
  </em>
  <span>he asks instead.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Plug it in.</span>
  </em>
  <span> She backs away, her fingertips trailing along Nine’s forearms. Then she’s gone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nines shivers. He looks down at his hand. It’s a memory stick. Old, but still usable. It would fit in a port in the back of his neck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The little compartment behind his head opens up. He reaches back and plugs in the stick—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And suddenly he’s in his garden. It’s just as it’s been for months. The same pink flowers, the same green foliage. Ada waiting in the gazebo, watching the koi fish in the water. A window of Gavin’s apartment visible through a gap in the trees. A gentle breeze ruffling his hair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And yet— Something isn’t right. It’s too quiet. Nines can’t place it. The gravel crunches under his shoes as he walks toward Ada. Maybe she’ll have some answers. He deviates from the winding path, cutting through the grass to reach her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then a searing flash of light consumes everything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Nines is back in reality. Gavin is standing in front of him with the memory stick in his hand, breathing like he ran a marathon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span> are you doing, Nines?” He’s furious, Nines realizes, and terrified.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He blinks away trace outlines of objects that aren’t there and gridlines that divide the world into uneven planes. “Solving this case.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jesus Christ, Nines. For fuck’s sake, not like this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you talking about? Give me that.” Nines tries to grab the stick out of his partner’s hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you have any </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking </span>
  </em>
  <span>idea what this could do to you? Do you have one </span>
  <em>
    <span>single fucking clue? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Or did you really just charge into danger without thinking about it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gavin, you’re impeding this investigation. I’m not in any danger. Give me. The stick.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes you </span>
  <em>
    <span>are, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Nines. Jesus. Ask some goddamn questions before you shove some random stick into your fucking spine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nines decides that maybe this isn’t the best time to point out that his ports don’t really connect to his spine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>did </span>
  </em>
  <span>ask questions. I didn’t get answers. So I took matters into my own hands and did what I had to in order to find out the truth.” And then it slips out. Nines doesn’t mean to say it. He doesn’t mean it at all. He’s just… so angry. “You’re one to talk, anyway. Like you’ve never made one stupid decision.” He can’t believe himself. “You make them all the time. Please.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin steps back. Wounded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Give it to me.” Nines holds out his hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. No way. I’m not going to let you destroy yourself for this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not going to </span>
  <em>
    <span>destroy </span>
  </em>
  <span>myself, Gavin!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nines is suddenly aware that people have turned to watch. His voice is louder than he thought. He clenches his fists. He’s going to break their cover, if he hasn’t already. If Gavin hasn’t.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nines.” Gavin comes closer, containing his anger just as much as Nines, a powder keg about to explode. His voice is so steady. Scarily steady. “This— this </span>
  <em>
    <span>thing,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” he waves the stick. “It’s a code. And it destroys your programming from the inside out. It will kill you, just like all those other androids. The ones we’ve been investigating.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How could you possibly know that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m a </span>
  <em>
    <span>good</span>
  </em>
  <span> detective, Nines.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s something awful burning inside of him. “I’m not like other androids, Gavin. I’m advanced. I can take it. I won’t end up like them.” He’s ready to push Gavin’s buttons if he has to. He knows where to hit to take him down. He makes his preconstructions. He plans out his next words with a preciseness that hurts the little part of him that doesn’t like the outcome he sees.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You pompous asshole. You don’t know that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you would?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like I </span>
  <em>
    <span>said—”</span>
  </em>
</p><p><span>“You’re a good detective? Are you sure about that? Because right now I think you’re just immature. You’re just upset because you can’t have your way.” What the </span><em><span>hell? </span></em><span>“I thought I was making progress with you. My greatest achievement, really. But you’re impeding the investigation with your own burning insecurities and throwing a tantrum, like you always do, because you can’t handle </span><em><span>feelings— </span></em><span>because I didn’t </span><em><span>check </span></em><span>with you— and I guess I was wrong. </span><span>You’re a  little kid running around trying to be a hero so he can prove to everyone that he's good enough to be worth saving from himself. It’s time to</span> <span>just </span><em><span>grow up, </span></em><span>Gavin. And let me. Solve. The case.”</span></p><p>
  <span>“Okay. Alright. You wanna see a tantrum? Fine.” Gavin throws the stick at Nines’s feet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It shatters. Nines didn’t predict that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin turns the other way and walks out. He doesn’t look back. And Nines is left alone, in the middle of a crowd of goggling strangers, feeling all over again that sick combination of powerful and utterly, completely, out of control.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hasn’t felt like this since before he deviated. But this time, he can’t seem to find the wall he needs to break.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Echo Chamber</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Quinn, what the—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The room has erupted into chatter, whispers of speculation and incipient rumors rippling through the crowd. There’s still a circle of empty space around the tall android with the olive-green jacket and leather pants, who seems to be in shock as he bends down to pick up the broken memory stick by his excessively shiny black shoes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex recognizes the memory stick. He’s carrying a bag full of ones just like it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The realization crashes into him like an ocean wave in the middle of a storm, threatening to pull him down and drown him in a sea of broken promises and regret and sudden, horrible, overwhelming guilt. It’s in his throat, wet, choking.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span> It destroys your programming from the inside out. It will kill you, just like all those other androids.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>How many androids were there?</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No. It can’t be true. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Quinn would have </span>
  <em>
    <span>told </span>
  </em>
  <span>him. Quinn would have asked him to fix it. To shut it down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Quinn?” They’re just gone. Nowhere to be seen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a rush in his ears as he half-runs, half-stumbles, unbalanced, toward the exit. He pulls himself with shaking arms up the ladder to the surface.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The nighttime chill slaps him in the face. He stops. He breathes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The street is empty. Silent but for the creak of old wooden signs in the wind and his own thumping heart.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t know where to go. Doesn’t know what to do. Can’t even figure out what to think. So he heads home, letting his feet carry him all the way there.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Nines has already called Gavin six times. He can’t seem to stop, even though he knows he’ll be sent to voicemail every single time. He emerges from the sewers with his phone hanging limply from his hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He feels disgusting. Remnants of sewage, booze, rubbed-off makeup, and other people’s sweat and breath cling to him. He sheds his jacket, as if by exposing as much of himself to the breeze it’ll all somehow get blown away, not just the physical but the memory of Gavin’s hurt and the itching to go </span>
  <em>
    <span>back </span>
  </em>
  <span>to the garden, to understand the code.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe it’s not the sewage at all that disgusts him. Maybe it’s just himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The code. The case. The garden. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I would have it by now if Gavin hadn’t destroyed it. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>If Gavin hadn’t blown our cover. If Gavin hadn’t acted like a child. If Gavin hadn’t thought he was smarter than me. If Gavin—</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He grits his teeth. It’s not Gavin’s fault. It’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>not.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He examines his own reflection in the window of a closed shop. He doesn’t recognize himself. His hair, too light-colored, is wild, sticking up wildly and held in place by what’s left of the gel. A streak of eyeliner runs from the corner of his eye to his cheek like a scar. His LED flashes wildly — red, yellow, blue, yellow, blue, red — with every change of the train of thought in Nines’s head.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>If Gavin hadn’t — If I hadn’t — I wonder if — </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He smooths his hair. Changes it back to its ordinary dark brown. He clears the eyeliner from his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He still doesn’t feel like himself. His LED can’t settle on a color.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He finds himself back at his motorcycle. Then he’s at Gavin’s apartment. He’s knocking on the door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks for a heat signature inside. There is none. Gavin isn’t home. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Where is he?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Perhaps at the station, distracting himself with work.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nines can’t muster the energy to care. To go back and find his partner. To have the inevitable secondary argument with him. He can’t.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pulls the spare key out of his pocket and lets himself into the apartment. He crumples onto the couch, pressing his face into a pillow. It smells like Gavin. His hair, his soap, his detergent. There are even traces of bacon still left over from the morning, quickly fading.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nines falls back into the garden. He can’t stay in the real world. Not now.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Fuck. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s after one in the morning when Gavin closes the station door behind him. His eyes sting. He can barely see. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can hardly even hear the sound of his own echoing footsteps in the empty hall over Nines’s voice, loud and cold and sharp, in his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You’re a good detective? Are you sure? Because right now I think you’re just immature.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Fuck. It’s like Nines was in his brain, telling him all the things he already told himself a thousand, a million, times before. He’s nothing but a lost child, still wandering the streets of Detroit on that snowy night. He’s never healed—even has the scars to prove it. He never fucking left.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And now he’s finally bleeding out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He presses his hands into his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t fucking cry.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He crashes into his chair, rolling it into place behind his desk. He starts up his computer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s an intact memory stick in his pocket.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>For my boyfriend, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he told the android who gave it to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He takes it out and studies it, and with numb disappointment realizes he has no idea where to plug it in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gavin?” It’s Tina, approaching cautiously from the right. “Gavin, what are you doing here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck off. Leave me alone.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t know he’s said it out loud until Tina takes a step back, raising her hands. He recognizes that look. He used to get it all the time. It’s the one that says, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Jeez, asshole, </span>
  </em>
  <span>which is usually followed by the person giving it leaving and never coming back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He swallows. That version of him never got hurt like this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But, then again, he was never really happy, either.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And God, he just wants to be happy, and he wants it to fucking stick.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So he bites back a </span>
  <em>
    <span>didn’t you fucking hear me? </span>
  </em>
  <span>and drops his head onto the table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Tina—bless her and her infinite patience, Gavin has never been so grateful for her—still hasn’t left.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gavin?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” he breathes. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know. You never do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin lifts his head. He opens his mouth but can’t get anything out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Gavin.” Tina closes the gap between them, and Gavin stands to wrap his arms around her, his chin on her shoulder, looking down at the vinyl floor. She hugs him back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Holy shit, Gavin, you smell like you’ve been swimming in a clogged toilet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin laughs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they pull apart, there’s a little tear stain on the collar of her uniform. She doesn’t seem to mind. Gavin sits back down and she leans against his desk, bracing herself with her hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What happened? Is it Nines?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And it all comes tumbling out. Everything— the question he’s been meaning to ask, all the doubts, the case, the club, the fight. Tina listens to all of it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he’s done, Tina looks up at the ceiling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jesus, Gavin. That’s— I don’t even know what to say. I’m so sorry. I can’t believe Nines would say something like that to you.” </span>
</p><p><span>“Me neither. I guess I just… had the wrong idea about him.”</span><span><br/></span> <span>Tina chews on her bottom lip, thinking. “Gavin, I… I don’t know. I mean, really. He talks about you like you’re… you’re the best thing that ever happened to him. He thinks you’re amazing.”</span><span><br/></span> <span>“Apparently not.” Gavin says. “I mean, obviously I </span><em><span>am</span></em><span> amazing, but—”</span></p><p>
  <span>“Right.” Tina rolls her eyes, but she doesn’t seem to entirely agree.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But what else could it be?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gavin can explain the sudden hostility. The code, he was told, is addictive. Like Red Ice, but for androids. Even though it’ll kill them, they always come back for more. Each android reacts a little differently, but (for some, at least) when they’re stuck in the harsh real world without it, they lash out. Become irritable. Violent, even. That’s why the fourth dead android attacked the guy outside the bar.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was genuine terror in the android’s eyes as she described her best friend’s behavior on their last visit the day before. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But those thoughts, those words, they had to come from somewhere. They came from Nines. Some part of Nines really believes everything he said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that it?” Tina points to the memory stick on the table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” He passes it to her. “I don’t have anywhere to plug it in.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me neither, but…” she taps it with the nail of her index finger. “The conference room does. Come on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he follows her further into the precinct, flicking on lights, it strikes him that, as weird as it is for him to be in at this hour, it’s even stranger for Tina.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> doing here, anyway?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re not the only one who uses work to get their mind off things.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What things? What’s going on?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tina sighs. “I </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>need that promotion, Gavin.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You deserve it. It’s your dream.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, it is. And—”</span>
</p><p><span>“And what?”</span><span><br/></span> <span>“It’s not just about that, not anymore.” She exhales, long and slow, and stops in her tracks. “Valerie and I… we want to start a family. We’re going to adopt.”</span></p><p>
  <span>“Oh. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Congratulations?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They start walking again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Seriously, Tina. That’s exciting. I’m happy for you two.” And even in the middle of everything, he means it.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tina smiles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They enter the circular conference room. Tina taps the control panel in at the far right end of the screen that takes up half the wall, and it opens up, revealing a gridwork of ports from various years. They could plug in something from 2003 if they wanted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tina inserts the memory stick and closes the panel.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The screen changes. It turns black. Words—lines of code—encircle them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then it’s gone, replaced with the words </span>
  <em>
    <span>NO DATA </span>
  </em>
  <span>stretching from one end of the screen to the other, blinking tauntingly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Tina’s fingers fly across the keypad on the screen, but nothing happens. “It’s wiped itself.” The panel pops open with a hiss. Tina takes the memory stick out—and drops it on the ground with a stream of curses. Smoke rises from the stick, now blackened on one end. She peers into the hole it came out of. “I don’t believe it. They fried the goddamn port.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Quinn is on the couch, playing guitar (right side up this time), when Alex enters the apartment. The door slams shut. He tosses the bag at their face, and it hits the guitar strings on the way down, striking a dissonant chord into the air.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex may be small, but his fiery rage fills the whole room, silent and terrifying. His hands are balled into fists pressed into his thighs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Quinn. What. The </span>
  <em>
    <span>hell.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Are we doing?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alex, listen, I didn’t know—”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, you did. I’m not stupid. I’ve known you were hiding something from me for a while. I just— I didn’t think it was this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alex. Please. Let me explain. Sit down with me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine. Okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Four androids and a human are dead.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because of us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No?” He crosses his arms. “Enlighten me. How?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>They </span>
  </em>
  <span>are the ones who went too deep. We never made them do that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>We’re</span>
  </em>
  <span> the ones who made the damn thing. We’re the ones who sold it to them. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You’re </span>
  </em>
  <span>the one who knew the risks and said </span>
  <em>
    <span>nothing</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Did they even know what they were getting into?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No.</span>
  </em>
  <span> They shrug.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alex sighs, exasperated. He runs a hand through his hair. “How could you be so— We’re talking about actual </span>
  <em>
    <span>lives </span>
  </em>
  <span>here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Those lives didn’t seem to matter that much when we started.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t you </span>
  <em>
    <span>dare </span>
  </em>
  <span>make this my fault.” He steps closer now, pointing an accusatory finger at Quinn. “If I had </span>
  <em>
    <span>known, </span>
  </em>
  <span>if you had </span>
  <em>
    <span>told </span>
  </em>
  <span>me, I would have fixed it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quinn stands. They tower over him. “I was going to fix it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You were going to fix it? By yourself? Without me knowing? Without even knowing if those ‘fixes’ worked?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I tried.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You </span>
  <em>
    <span>tried?” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Alex laughs, a maniacal, disbelieving laugh. “And you tested it on what? Those androids we sold to? Were those deaths just experiments to you? And— Jesus, Quinn, </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>were using it. You could have died!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alex, I just— I didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t want to lose you.”</span>
</p><p><span>Alex’s eyes are wide behind his glasses. “That’s bullshit. You didn’t want me to back out. You didn’t want to lose the </span><em><span>code, </span></em><span>and all this money,</span> <span>and you need me for that.”</span></p><p>
  <span>Quinn doesn’t even know which one of them is right.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alex, I—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He holds up a hand. “No. You’ve had your chance. You blew it. I’m going to the police.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alex, </span>
  <em>
    <span>no.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Don’t do that. You can’t. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Please.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fucking watch me.” He turns around. Opens the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alex.” Quinn’s hand is around his wrist. He can’t even match their android strength, much less muster up enough to remove himself from their grip. “Alex, don’t go.” Why won’t he just </span>
  <em>
    <span>listen?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>But then there’s a crack, and his bone </span>
  <em>
    <span>breaks</span>
  </em>
  <span> under their fingers, and his cry of pain shocks them just enough to let go.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What am I doing?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Then he’s down the stairs and running away in the street, and Quinn knows they could easily catch up to him, but they’re stuck, the crack of his wrist replaying itself over and over again in the echo chamber of their mind.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Clearest Blue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>"Whenever I feel it coming on<br/>You can be well aware<br/>If ever I try to push you away<br/>You can just keep me there<br/>So please say you'll meet me<br/>Meet me halfway"<br/>- CHVRCHES, "Clearest Blue"</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Nines’s garden still feels off, and he still has no idea why.</p><p>Maybe it’s Ada’s unusual quiet.</p><p>Normally, when Nines comes here, he tells her things and she interjects often, making conversation, asking questions, offering solutions.</p><p>But now, she says nothing. Nines takes her through everything that’s happened since the morning, and when he’s done, she just… looks at him.</p><p>“Ada, what’s happening to me?”</p><p>She smiles. And then breaks into a million pieces. Pixels. Data points. A cloud of wobbly, half-formed intent. Just for a moment, before she resolidifies.</p><p>So it <em> is </em>Ada.</p><p>“Still fragile, Nines.” Her voice is tinny and metallic. “From me.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“When you deleted everything and rebuilt it, you never finished. Your walls are vulnerable. Something is missing. The code—” she dissipates. Reforms. “Took something.”</p><p>“What did it take?” Nines asks. But she’s no longer next to him. “Ada? <em> Ada?” </em></p><p>She’s nowhere to be seen. He stands.</p><p>He searches the garden for what must be hours. He wanders the gravel paths and copses of trees, he crosses the pond, he goes up into Gavin’s apartment, calling her name. She doesn’t come back.</p><p>The ground starts to disappear under his feet, and he begins to run, barely outpacing the gaping hole—</p><p>His eyes snap open.</p><p>He’s on Gavin’s couch, and everything is exactly how it was when he entered, except now the sun is streaming in through the window. He sits up. </p><p>Gavin’s coat isn’t hanging next to the door. He never came home. Nines hopes he’s just at work, or staying with Tina— anything other than dead or kidnapped.</p><p>He checks the time. He has to be at the station in half an hour, so he quickly changes into his normal clothes, washes his face and hair, and leaves, taking one last long look at the apartment before closing the door on it.</p><p> </p><p>Of course Gavin’s already there, in his same clothes from last night, looking like he’s been dragged behind a truck. He probably hasn’t slept, and he’s trying to hide it all behind a giant mug of coffee.</p><p>He glances at Nines as he enters and doesn’t acknowledge him, turning pointedly back to his computer screen.</p><p>Nines is, at least, a little relieved to see that Gavin isn’t in life-threatening danger, but he has to resist the urge to put his arms around him, kiss his forehead and drive him home, make him go back to bed and cook eggs and toast while he sleeps. To start over.</p><p>He wants to erase last night and make it all okay again.</p><p>He takes his seat at the desk pushed up to the front of Gavin’s.</p><p>“Good morning, Gavin,” he says.</p><p>Gavin does not answer.</p><p>“Are you filling out your report for last night?”</p><p>“I know how to do my job. You don’t need to check up on me.”</p><p>“Right, yes. Of course. My apologies.” He hesitates. “Gavin, we should talk about what happened last night. I’m so sorry—”</p><p>“I don’t want to hear your apologies. I don’t fucking care.” His words sting. “Not— not right now.”</p><p>Nines doesn’t push the issue.</p><p>For an excruciatingly long time, the only sound between them is the clicking of their keyboards.</p><p>Nines finishes his report quickly—swallowing his guilt at every word of the description of their fight just to get it the hell over with—and walks over to the break room.</p><p>Coffee. It’s a habit at this point.</p><p>Tina is there, waiting for her toast and looking at him like she’s trying to decipher his entire program. Her uniform is wrinkled. She has deep sleepless lines under her eyes.</p><p>“You and Gavin still haven’t worked it out, huh?” she says, in place of her usual good morning. “Guess I shouldn’t be surprised. He takes a bit to cool off.”</p><p>“He told you what happened?”</p><p>She nods. “I feel like I should be mad at you. But I’m not.”</p><p>Nines stops. “You’re… not?”</p><p>“No.” But she says it almost like a question. “I mean, I don’t think so. What you said to him… it doesn’t sound like you at all. I’m just— having trouble believing that it was.”</p><p>“You think Gavin was lying?”</p><p>“No, of course not. I believe every word. But I just… what were you <em> thinking?” </em></p><p>Nines finishes pouring the coffee into Gavin’s plainest mug and returns the carafe to the machine. </p><p>“I… it didn’t feel like I was,” he says. “Thinking, that is.”</p><p>The toaster oven pings, and Tina removes her toast with her bare hands, wincing a little at the heat. “What’s that supposed to mean?”</p><p>“I mean… It was like—” for once he can’t think of the right words. “It was like— before deviancy. Where I wasn’t thinking my own thoughts. <em> I </em> wasn’t thinking. But it was also… different. Then, there was a wall separating <em> me </em> from the thoughts CyberLife programmed into me. But there was no… separation this time.” A frustrated noise escapes him.</p><p>Tina squints. “That makes about <em> this </em>much sense,” she holds her free index finger and thumb about an inch apart. “But I kinda get it.” She shakes her head. “How is that even possible?”</p><p>“That memory stick. It tampered with my programming. When I went into my garden,” he taps his temple to clarify, “it was different. Corrupted.”</p><p>Tina nods slowly.</p><p>“Tina. Those other thoughts— they were all about getting that stick back. It was all I wanted. And everything I said, I didn’t mean any of it. It was just… like fighting some kind of sick psychological battle. I wanted to disarm him. I wanted to make him let it go. And I didn’t care <em>what </em>I said, whether true or not, as long as it hurt.”<br/>He looks her in the eye, desperate to communicate his sincerity. “Do you believe me?”</p><p>Tina chews her lip. “Yeah. I think I do. But will Gavin?”</p><p>“I don’t know.”</p><p> </p><p>Alex doesn’t go straight to the police station. He doesn’t even take the bus. He walks aimlessly until the sun rises, thinking himself in nauseating circles. His wrist really fucking hurts. He should go to the hospital.</p><p>He doesn’t. He just grits his teeth and lets pure adrenaline carry him through the pain.</p><p>He must come up to the door of the station five times, turning back— deciding he wants to tell— deciding he doesn’t— before he shoves through the door.</p><p>And collapses onto the cold floor, swallowed whole by the darkness.</p><p>He wakes up in a blindingly white room, on a white bed with white sheets, retinas burning under the light.</p><p>“<em>Fuck,” </em>he hisses, bringing up his arm instinctively to shade his eyes. He feels a resistance and looks down. All manner of multicolored wires are hooked into his left arm, trailing up to a machine that beeps irregularly with his heart and a clear bag of liquid. He turns his head and finds that his right wrist and most of his hand are encased in a white plaster cast.</p><p>“Finally. He’s awake,” says a voice from near the closed door. A man—somewhat familiar to Alex although he can’t think of why—sits in a metal chair, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped in front of him.</p><p>“I’m not sure about that,” Alex says, lifting his head a little off the pillow.</p><p>The man smiles a little bit. “How are you feeling?”</p><p>“About as bad as you look.”</p><p>He laughs. “I like you.”</p><p>“What’s going on? Where am I? Who are you? Where’s—” <em> Quinn. </em></p><p>Memories of the night before flood his brain. His head drops back onto the pillow. <em> Shit </em>.</p><p>“Okay, one thing at a time.” The man stands, and Alex realizes where he’s seen him before. Last night, at Calypso. Fighting with the android over the Code.</p><p>“I’m Detective Reed.” <em> Detective? </em>“You collapsed this morning in the middle of the DPD. You’re at the Henry Ford Hospital.”</p><p>“Oh.”</p><p>“We couldn’t find any ID on you, not even a phone, so we don’t have any emergency emergency contacts for you. Do you have someone we can call? Just to let them know you’re… not dead?”</p><p>He hesitates. “No, there’s… there’s no one.”</p><p>“Sounds lonely.”</p><p>Alex sighs. </p><p>“What’s your name, kid?”</p><p>“Alex.”</p><p>“You got a last name?”</p><p>“Ramirez. My name’s Alexandro Ramirez.”</p><p>He nods and types something into his phone.</p><p>“You’re pretty busted up. Shattered wrist, malnourished, dehydrated—” Alex becomes aware that his throat feels like sandpaper and his empty stomach hurts. “What the hell happened to you, man?”</p><p>“I—” The words stick in his throat. Where does he even start?</p><p>“Take your time. Just, uh… rest. Okay?”</p><p>Alex nods weakly. “Okay.”</p><p>But what if Quinn decides to keep going? What if more people die because Alex can’t get himself to talk?<br/>A nurse enters the room, carrying a tray of food and a glass of water. She sets it on the bedside table and fiddles with the wires and the machine.</p><p>“How’re you feelin’ hon?” she asks.</p><p>“Like garbage.”</p><p>“Are you in pain?”</p><p>“Psychologically? Yes. Physically?” he checks his arm. “Not really.”</p><p>“Good. Means the painkillers are workin’.”</p><p>She asks him a few more questions (name, age, medical history, etc.) and then leaves, promising to come back with the doctor in a few minutes. </p><p>The android from last night brushes past her in the doorway. His hair is darker now, and he’s actually dressed like a professional in a black button-up, but he’s unmistakably the same person. Maybe it’s the way he carries himself that makes it obvious.</p><p>“Gavin.” He nods his head at Detective Reed.</p><p>Reed grunts.</p><p>Alex could pluck the tension between them and it would ring out of tune like one of the unraveling strings on Quinn’s guitar.</p><p>“Alexandro,” the android says, ignoring the detective’s attitude and turning to Alex.</p><p>“It’s just Alex.”</p><p>“It’s nice to meet you, Alex. My name is Nines. I am Detective Reed’s partner.”</p><p>“Are you a detective, too?”</p><p>“Yes, that’s what I just— oh. Yes. We are work partners and—”</p><p>Gavin coughs.</p><p>“Right. “ Nines puts his hands behind his back. “Do you mind if we ask you a few questions?”</p><p>“Nines, I already—”</p><p>“Without me?”</p><p>A muscle flexes in Gavin’s jaw. “I was going to give him time to rest. Look at him.” He gestures at Alex in the bed. </p><p>“Okay, you know what? This is stupid.” He can already see where this is going. And frankly, he’s sick of fights. Now both sets of eyes are on him. “Is this,” he waves his hand at them as he sits up, “about last night?”</p><p>“How do you know about that?” Detective Reed asks, practically jumping out of his chair.</p><p>“I was <em> there. </em>”</p><p>“You— you’re not even old enough to drink.”</p><p>“They don’t check IDs. Also, I didn’t drink. Anyway, that’s not the point. The point is this argument is dumb.”</p><p>Nines gapes at him. </p><p>“Why?” Gavin crosses his arms, taking up a defensive stance.</p><p>“Because… it’s about that memory stick.”</p><p>“That’s not what this is about at all. This is about <em> him, </em> ” Gavin jabs a finger at his partner, “being a stuck-up asshole who thinks he’s better than everyone, who's spent the last year and a half making me his charity case. This is about <em> him </em> botching our investigation with his goddamn ego.”</p><p>Nines shoves his hands into his pockets. “I was doing my job.”</p><p>“So it’s about your hero complex, then. Your oath, or whatever?”</p><p>“Gavin, I…” Nines reaches his hand out. “I didn’t know the risks.”</p><p>“Are you <em> sure?” </em>Gavin spits.</p><p>Nines flinches. “I didn’t mean what I said. I was not in control—”</p><p>“You weren’t in control of your impulses. Well, you know who else isn’t in control? Drunk people. But you know what they say. In… In vine— drunk people tell the truth. God, Nines, of course you’re going to tell me you didn’t mean it. Now that you see how much you fucked up. <em> I would know </em> . It doesn’t work like that.” </p><p>“Gavin—”</p><p>“You should listen to him,” Alex interjects. “Gavin, you need to believe him.”</p><p>Gavin’s eyes burn twin holes through Alex’s skull. “And you how would you know?”</p><p>“Because… because the same thing happened to my best friend.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>A knock at the door saves Alex from having to come up with a lie. The nurse returns, an android in a white coat at her heels.</p><p>“I’m going to have to ask you two to leave,” she says. “Visiting hours are over. The doctor needs to talk to the patient in private.”</p><p>It takes both detectives a few moments to comprehend.</p><p>Gavin gives Alex one long last look before he leaves.</p><p>“We’ll be back, kid. We need to talk.”</p><p> </p><p>Quinn is still sitting on the couch. It’s been so long that the sun now shines right through the west-facing window and pools on the floor, illuminating the dust suspended in the air.</p><p>They’ve spent most of the time in their silent palace, contemplating their next steps. Now, they have made their decision.</p><p><em> It’s the only way, </em> they remind themself as they slowly drop their bare feet to the ground. <em> This is the only way to survive. </em>They rise to their feet.</p><p>They head to the desk and open the bottom drawer. A gun rattles and slides to the front. They pick it up.</p><p>
  <em> Alexandro Ramirez: Liability. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Objective updated: Kill Alex. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>By the time Nines and Gavin make it through the door, Gavin is back to not talking. Nines settles into the chair by the door, while Gavin opts to stand against the wall with one foot against it, his arms crossed over his chest.</p><p>“Gavin… I… I <em> know </em>how this sounds.”</p><p>Gavin glowers at him but says nothing. Nines drops his gaze to his hands hanging limply in his lap.</p><p>“But… you heard what he said. I wasn’t in control of myself. Not my words, not my actions, not even my thoughts. And… all I want to do now is let you know that I… I just want things to go back to the way they were. I want you to see… I wish I could show you what I see when I look at you.” He lifts his eyes. </p><p>Gavin isn’t angry. He’s scared. It’s all right there, written into the lines of his face.</p><p>But it’s like trying to wrestle his way out of quicksand. The more Nines says, the more pathetic he sounds, no matter how truthful his words are. It’s all excuses, excuses, excuses.</p><p>“Gavin.” Nines gets out of the chair and walks to him. He takes Gavin’s hands lightly. “Gavin. Those were not my words. They were the Code’s. Listen to me. Please.</p><p>“You are… the best thing that could have possibly happened to me. You are… brilliant. Utterly… brilliant.” <em> That’s weak. You can do better than that. </em> “You have never, <em> ever </em> been a ‘charity case.’ You are my <em> partner. </em>You are the half of me that keeps me as human as it’s possible for me to be. You are… my anchor when I feel like the whole world is falling apart. And Gavin— I think my world is falling apart right now.”</p><p>Gavin finally lifts his head. His eyes flick across Nines’s face. His lips part slightly, and he exhales, his breath brushing Nines’s cheeks.</p><p>“Nines, I…” He pulls away, sidestepping Nines into the middle of the hallway. “We should be talking about this case.”</p><p>Something in Nines breaks.</p><p>“Alright.” He steps back and glances through the window of the hospital room door at Alex.</p><p>
  <em> Alexandro Ramirez, 19. Unemployed. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Criminal Record: None. &gt;&gt; Alert: Fired from CyberLife for behavioral infraction. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Address — </em>
</p><p>Nines starts. The address. It’s familiar. He sorts through his memories.</p><p>“Gavin. Remember that RK500 we talked to? Quinn?”</p><p>“Yeah, how could I forget.”</p><p>Nines turns to him. “This is their roommate.”</p><p>Gavin’s eyes widen. “Oh. Well that’s… interesting. This Quinn seems to be everywhere, huh?”</p><p>“I wonder why they’re not here. Didn’t Alex call them?”</p><p>“No, he said there was no one to call. I guess it makes sense. You heard what he said in there, about something happening to his best friend. They might not be talking.”</p><p>“Someone should go check up on them.”</p><p>“Yeah. I’ll go.” He doesn’t even look back before he walks away and disappears around the corner at the end of the hall.</p><p>“Right. And I will stay here, with Alex,” Nines says to the emptiness.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. She Doesn't Sleep</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>"She doesn't sleep<br/>Not a wink<br/>Cause she knows what she needs<br/>And you'll be incorporated if she likes what she sees<br/>What she sees<br/>She's counting the matches<br/>Before she sets fire to the sheets."<br/>- Anthony Amorim, "She Doesn't Sleep."</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Quinn tries the police station first.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The receptionist has her right elbow on the table, her chin cupped in her palm, the other hand on a quickly-moving mouse. She doesn’t look up at Quinn when they enter.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What do you need?” she asks, somewhere between bored and irritated.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think my roommate may have come by earlier,” they say. They soften their voice and pepper it with concern. “His name is Alex? He might have said something about me. I’m afraid he’s having a psychotic episode. He ran off last night talking about coming here.” They clasp their hands together, tight, fidgeting. “He’s schizophrenic, you see, and—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The receptionist glares at them without moving her head and sighs. “His last name?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ramirez.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She types the name into her computer. “No one by that name came by last night, I’m sorry.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh.” Quinn isn’t sure whether or not to be relieved. They turn to leave, uncertain of where they might look for him next.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At that moment, a shorter woman with long black hair tied back into a ponytail touches Quinn’s arm to get their attention.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey. You’re looking for your roommate? We had a John Doe in here this morning. Small kid, late teens, dark hair, glasses?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh my god, that’s him. Is he okay?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He was in pretty bad shape, so we had to take him over to the hospital. Henry Ford.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, shit.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You need a ride?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Considering their intentions, Quinn thinks it best to avoid interaction with cops as much as possible. “No, thank you.” They force a tight-lipped smile. “I’ll take the bus.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Nines slips into his garden without meaning to. He just thinks so hard that he </span>
  <em>
    <span>falls, </span>
  </em>
  <span>sinking through sand to get there, and this time knowing better than to struggle against it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But it’s not his garden. It’s something else entirely. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s standing in front of the hospital. It’s silent, as if the whole city has somehow stopped breathing around him. But </span>
  <em>
    <span>he’s </span>
  </em>
  <span>breathing, and he’s never done that before. His chest expands and contracts, air flowing in and out of him— although without lungs he doesn’t know how. It’s terrifying, suddenly feeling, </span>
  <em>
    <span>knowing, </span>
  </em>
  <span>that his life hinges on such a simple, tenuous thing as the intake of air.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s the only thing he’s aware of for several moments. If he stops thinking about it, will he keep breathing? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then Gavin’s car pulls up behind him, and Gavin climbs out. He’s wearing a white long-sleeved shirt.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For just a moment, Nines does stop breathing. </span>
  <em>
    <span>But I deleted you</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin doesn’t look at him as he walks past and through the front doors. Nines follows, jogging to catch up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Gavin. Gavin, please wait.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin flashes a badge at the receptionist, who tells him that the John Doe they brought in earlier is upstairs. She gives him the room number. When they reach the room, Gavin shuts the door before Nines can get through, as if he’s not even there. As if he’s a ghost in his own brain. He hears voices from inside. A muffled chuckle. Nines tries the door. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tries it again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>On the third try, the door clicks open. He enters the room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin’s sitting in the chair by the door. Nines says his name in greeting and nods. Gavin grunts.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nines runs a quick scan. The boy on the bed is named Alexandro. He’s so young. He’s so skinny Nines can practically see the bones through his skin. His cheeks are sallow. He has dark circles under his eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wonders— maybe this is what Gavin looked like, before Fowler found him. Small. Broken. Confused. Lost.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He introduces himself. “Do you mind if we ask you a few questions?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And then he can’t remember. Is he living this for the first time? It’s almost déjà vu. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Androids don’t get  déjà vu.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nines, I already did. I’m going to give him some time to rest. Let’s go.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Something is wrong. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He lets Gavin drag him back into the hall, and watches as he positions himself by the door, guarding it, his arms crossed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s a chair by the door, but Nines doesn’t sit. He doesn’t need to. He stands in front of Gavin instead.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We should talk about last night,” he says.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What is there to talk about?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I need to apologize. What I said, it was…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You don’t need to apologize for that. You were just telling the truth.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No. </span>
  <em>
    <span>No.</span>
  </em>
  <span> It wasn’t.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin’s head snaps up. He’s grinning. It’s wrong. It’s all wrong. “Yes, it is. Gavin just weighs you down. He forgets what’s important.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He draws something out of his pocket. A memory stick. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>No, no, </span>
  <em>
    <span>no.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This. Figuring out what it means. Solving the case.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>No—”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>—</span>
  </em>
  <span> And then it starts over again. Nines is outside. He’s following Gavin up the stairs. This time he argues with him in the hospital room. He doesn’t bring the night before up again in the hall.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Again. They fight in the hospital room. Nines pleads with Gavin to forgive him. Gavin says he never will.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Again. Nines treats Gavin with hostility. They have a blowup argument in the hall that draws an audience from the other rooms.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Again. Alex convinces Gavin not to make the same mistake he did. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Again, again, again—</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Quinn supposes they’re lucky for the fact that there is only one passenger on the bus when the alarm sounds. They don’t want to have to shoot up a whole bus.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Warning: Illegal firearm. Warning: Illegal firearm, </span>
  </em>
  <span>the machine deadpans, backed by a rapid and obnoxious beeping noise. The bus driver shoots out of his seat. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What the f—” his LED flashes yellow. He’s going to alert the police. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stop.” Quinn holds out their hand, still standing on the stairstep. “Disable the alarm. If anyone asks, it was a glitch. The system malfunctioned.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The driver’s LED spins blue. He sits back down. His hand turns white, his synthskin retracting, as he pushes a few buttons on the display in front of him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The beeping stops. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You didn’t hear anything. I don’t have a weapon. Okay? Just make your usual stops. I’ll get off at the hospital.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The bus lurches forward. Quinn slides into a seat, across the aisle from the single other passenger, a human who stares at them with terrified eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Good. Be scared.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Quinn looks right back at her and makes sure she can hear the cocking of the gun as they turn the barrel toward her. As other passengers slowly accumulate on board, they return the gun to their pocket, but the human still says nothing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The bus halts outside the hospital. Quinn gets up and leans forward to speak to the android in front of them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Make sure she doesn’t call the police, okay?” They say. The android nods. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The woman whimpers as Quinn joins the group of passengers exiting to the hospital.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The door to Quinn and Alex’s apartment is open slightly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin takes a deep breath and draws his gun slowly from its holster, steadying it in both his hands. He listens carefully for any sign of activity from within — there is nothing but still silence — before nudging the door open with his shoulder. He steps in, the sound of his footsteps absorbed by the thin carpet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hello?” he calls. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nothing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stops in the middle of the room. Puts his gun down, but not away. The hairs on the back of his neck are standing up, his every nerve electrified. There’s a door to his left. A bedroom.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s no one in there, either. No one in the bathroom.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Back in the living room, something on the couch catches his eye. A memory stick, just like the one he collected at Calypso.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, shit.” There’s another one kicked under the couch, and one plugged into the computer on the table.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s probably illegal for him to do what he does next. It was probably illegal for him to enter the apartment in the first place. He doesn’t care. If he gets in trouble for it… he’ll burn that bridge when he gets to it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He hits the computer to jolt it awake. Of course it’s fucking password protected.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay. Think, Gavin. You’re nineteen. You’re a total nerd.” He stands, rubbing his face, and goes back into the bedroom. “You like books.” He brushes his fingertips over the paperback spines. “You like books from the twenties.” One catches his eye. It’s been opened so many times the spine is cracked, lines running through the title. Gavin takes it off the shelf and opens it up. The pages are thin and worn. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He checks the author. Several of the other books, almost an entire row, were written by the same person: S. L. Brooks</span>
  <em>
    <span>. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He types </span>
  <em>
    <span>Brooks </span>
  </em>
  <span>into the login box.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bingo.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Files open themselves up on the desktop. The kid doesn’t seem to ever close out anything. Dozens of unfinished projects with names and tags like “Ridefinder (‘find cheap public transport near you’),” “Binder Reminder (‘keep your ribs, lungs, and sanity intact’),” “Therapy (‘part-human, part-AI therapy’),” and “C.R.A.P.,” some of which look like they could really do good things, are scattered all over the screen.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gavin flicks through them until he finds one called “Morpheus.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s instantly infinitely grateful to Alex for writing himself notes between lines of nonsensical  strings of letters and numbers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Jumpstart mind palace.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Shut down external sensors.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Slow internal calculations.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Memory stick self-destruct.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jesus fucking Christ.” He sends himself the file (hoping he doesn’t accidentally destroy his computer, or the entire internet), and makes a mental note to ask someone at the station who understands technology to go over it with him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And now there’s just one more mystery to be solved. Where the hell is Quinn?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Quinn knows there’s another security checkpoint just on the other side of the main entrance. They’ve downloaded a map of the hospital, which they pull up on their HUD and use to find the side door. It’s not hard to convince the janitor android as he leaves to let them in.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They approach the front desk from the side, completely avoiding the scanners and sensors that would have given them away within seconds.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hi,” they say to the receptionist. Their voice sounds alien in their own ears, pitched too high. They plaster a smile onto their face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The receptionist smiles back. “Hi, welcome to Henry Ford Hospital. What can I do for you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m here to see my roommate. Alex Ramirez? He came in this morning.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, he’s upstairs. Room 234. He’s checking in with the doctor, but you can wait outside the room if you’d like.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They take the elevator up to the second floor, taking little note of the sleek architecture of the building, the beauty of the water tumbling down from the top floor to the pond in the entry hall. Everything is at the end of a long, dark tunnel.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quinn stops short at the end of the hall where 234 is situated. There’s a very familiar-looking android sitting in a chair right outside the door, his posture ramrod straight, his eyes closed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The RK900.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His LED is red and flashing. His jaw is tight, and behind his eyelids, his optical units move rapidly back and forth, like a human when they’re dreaming. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The nurse comes out of the room, toting a tray full of empty dishes. “You can go in now, sir,” she says.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The RK900 doesn’t acknowledge her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sir?” She reaches out to touch his shoulder.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ma’am?” Quinn jogs down the hall to her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The nurse looks up, smothering the concerned expression on her face.“Hi hon, what can I do ya for? Lookin’ for someone?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes. I’m Alex’s roommate.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh. Oh, of course. Come in, hon.” She reaches back and opens the door for Quinn.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Alex fidgets with the edge of the thin blanket draped over him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He knows what he’s going to say now. He’s rehearsed it in his head so many times. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maybe he won’t get into too much trouble if he shows them that he never meant for anyone to die. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>didn’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>commit a murder. He developed a computer program, and it went wrong.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In any case, </span>
  <em>
    <span>he</span>
  </em>
  <span>’s the one who took it from an idea to a working product. He’s the one who figured out how to distribute it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s his fault, so he’ll take the blame. And Quinn can move on with their life, which has hardly even started yet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He hears the door open. He takes a deep breath and braces himself for what he inevitably must do. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But it’s not either detective who appears in the doorway. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Alex blinks. He must be hallucinating, because that looks like Quinn, their features rendered harsh and blank by the light of the room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When it finally dawns on him that this is all </span>
  <em>
    <span>very </span>
  </em>
  <span>real, his first instinct is to be relieved, despite the fact that their last interaction involved them crushing his dominant wrist with their bare hand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, thank god,” he breathes, feeling muscles in his back release.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then they step forward, and they get a better look at the details of their face. The shape of the hard lines around their eyes and mouth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“God is a human construction designed to comfort and control the weak. I don’t think he has anything to do with this.” Every word is like an individual razor stabbing into his gut.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...what?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I want you to know that I… don’t want to do this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Quinn. Quinn, what the hell are you talking about?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But it’s down to you or me and…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Quinn? Seriously. Obviously this is about me saying I was going to the police— listen, I’m not going to turn you in. I’ve already decided. I’m the one who made it— you’re the one who’s under its control. Whatever you’re about to do, please—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course you’d say that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Quinn, I really have no idea—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes you </span>
  <em>
    <span>do!” </span>
  </em>
  <span>they pull their hand out from behind their back. They’re holding a gun, finger on the trigger.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Quinn— Jesus!” His heart is beating so fast it’s hard to hear his own voice over the sound of his rushing blood. He yanks wires and stickers from his body. The machines protest, their wails and beeps adding to the din. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Where’s the nurse?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He slides off the bed, his feet freezing on the floor even through his socks. He’s trembling, shivering.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Quinn.” He holds out his hand. </span>
  <em>
    <span>The fuck are you doing, man? Get the hell out. Call for help. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He steps closer, slowly, until he’s touching the barrel of the gun with his palm. He pushes it down. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quinn’s hands are steady, but blue light sputters and flashes behind their irises. They’re not looking at him. They’re staring past him, at the bed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This isn’t you,” he says. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They don’t respond. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If you leave right now, without shooting, you can get away clean. They won’t know you were here. They won’t have to know that you were involved in any of this. I can take it. I’ll get a few years in prison, maybe. But you— if you kill me, right here, they won’t have any reason not to—” he swallows. “Please. Leave me behind. Get out of here. You said it yourself. You don’t want to do this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re right,” they say. Finally, </span>
  <em>
    <span>finally, </span>
  </em>
  <span>they look down at him. “I don’t.” They drop their gun hand down to their side. “Thank you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He exhales. “Of course.” He wraps his arms around them and draws them in for a hug, one last time before they disappear from his life forever. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Or maybe not even forever. Maybe just until they’re older and wiser and in a little less trouble.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quinn draws away and backs through the door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>All the energy and fight drains right out of him as soon as they’re gone, his legs going weak. He barely makes it into the bed. His eyes flutter shut.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hi, hon.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hi,” Alex says, suddenly aware of the screeching of the machines at his side. “Sorry, I…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s fine, hon, no worries.” The door locks with a soft click behind the nurse as she pads closer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He cracks one eye open.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His heart stops in his chest. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She has the gun.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He curses. </span>
  <em>
    <span>How? </span>
  </em>
  <span>She lifts it, studying it curiously. “I’m supposed to use this on you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>How could Quinn convince a nurse to shoot him?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He scrambles backwards out of the bed, never gets a solid footing and falls on his back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Shit.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>He hauls himself to his feet, using the frame of the bed as support, and stumbles back into the wall. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>No, a window.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He hears the gun cocking as he whips around and slams the glass with his hands. It’s a two-story drop. He’ll break both of his legs on impact.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Better than being dead.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His heart has resumed its pounding. He can’t breathe, the edges of his vision flood with black and red— he can’t think—</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>How? Why? Doesn’t matter— get out— </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He finds the lock on the window with his shaking fingers and unlatches it. The window slides open, a cold wind rushes into the room—</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A single gunshot shocks Nines out of stasis.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Alex.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nines stands, the world tilting around him, shapes and lines swimming in his vision, struggling to solidify into reality. He has to put his hands on the wall to steady himself in the doorway. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A sketch of a humanoid form becomes the shape of the android nurse hovering in front of him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What happ—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She’s pointing a gun at him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Everything snaps into focus.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nines wraps his fingers around the other android’s wrist and pushes just as she fires. The shot misses him and hits the wall. He wrestles the gun away from her. It clatters to the ground. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And then she just collapses, right into Nines’s arms. Her knees buckle under her and Nines gently lowers her to the floor, but the strangeness of it hardly even registers as he takes in the room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Alex isn’t on the bed. He’s slumped over the windowsill, his legs limp underneath him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nines  rushes to him, he thinks he’s asking </span>
  <em>
    <span>are you okay</span>
  </em>
  <span> but he’s not sure. He takes Alex by the waist and lifts him from the open window.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Alex slumps into Nines’s arms. His eyes are open. Glassy. His dark hair is wet and warm with blood, so much blood, seeping into Nines’s shirt and sticking the fabric to the synthskin on his chest, and there’s an exit wound from a bullet in his forehead. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s so very still.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Someone is yelling in the hallway— </span>
  <em>
    <span>stay back, don’t come out of your room— </span>
  </em>
  <span>and a single set of running footsteps come closer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s Gavin, breathing heavily, stopped in his tracks just across the threshold, gun drawn. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” His gun slides across the floor and strikes the wall as he rushes to his side and drops to his knees. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Shit. </span>
  </em>
  <span>What happened?” He presses his fingers to Alex’s wrist, and then his neck, where his pulse should be, even though he already knows. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nines... he’s dead.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>S. L. Brooks is, yes, the one and only <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/legendtripper">legendtripper.</a> We have decided the series of books they will write and publish in this decade is a cyberpunk Revolutionary War-era queer romance called The Hyacinth Chronicles. If anyone would like to help me aggressively encourage them to fulfill this prophecy of mine, that would be great.</p>
<p>In other news, Alex was my baby and I am a heartless bastard for sacrificing him in the name of plot progression.</p>
<p>Anyway, thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it :) Next chapter will be up in the next few days or so. </p>
<p>- Sam</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. SCRAMBLED</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>"Should I kiss, marry or call you a friend? I don't know<br/>Can we start over again<br/>Mixed messages wrapped in a text that you wrote<br/>Scramble my head like an egg"<br/>- Havelock, "SCRAMBLED"</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I didn’t kill him. I swear.”</p><p>The nurse’s chair is pulled out to the side of the table in the interrogation room. She scooted it there over the course of a few minutes, as if by somehow coming closer to Nines she could make it easier for her to convince him.</p><p>Gavin is standing off to the side against the wall, scowling at everything, and Nines can practically feel the weight of his mood on his shoulders like the heavy air before a storm. </p><p>“Hannah, you were the only one anywhere near Alex when the gunshot went off. You had the <em> gun. </em> How stupid do you think we are?” Gavin says.</p><p>“I don’t. I think you’re smart enough to believe me despite everything.”</p><p>Gavin lifts himself from the wall and sets his hands on the table, leaning forward onto them. “Nines, can’t you do, like, a memory probe, or something? If she’s telling the truth…” <em> she can’t say no. </em></p><p>“Yes.” Nines bristles. Memory probes make him uncomfortable, but he supposes he’s willing to give up his comfort for the sake of the investigation. “However, I would need your permission, Hannah.”</p><p>She doesn’t hesitate. She holds out her arm, the skin retracting from her fingertips all the way up to her elbow. Nines mirrors the gesture, locking their arms together.</p><p>
  <em> Memory probe initiating &gt;&gt; </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Something is wrong with the android detective. He must be in stasis, but Hannah can’t wake him up. He’s rigid, unmoving, and his LED spins red and yellow and back again. Nothing in her memory bank can tell her what this signifies. Maybe she should call someone. CyberLife?  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Ma’am?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> There’s someone coming down the hall. It’s another android, medium height with long brown hair and a burning scarlet LED. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> She forces her expression into one of placid relaxation, something she’s trained herself to do after realizing that the emotional stability of friends and family members of patients hinges (to some degree) on her own reactions. “Hi hon, what can I do ya for? Lookin’ for someone?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Yes. I’m Alex’s roommate.” No one mentioned a roommate to her, but then again, no one really tells her much. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Oh. Oh, of course. Come in, hon.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Thanks,” they say, giving her a tight-lipped smile as they step through the door. There’s an immense sadness in those eyes, the kind Hannah only really sees in the visitors of terminally ill patients, who know they’re spending their very last moments with their loved ones.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Which is odd, because Alex’s wrist is broken and his malnourishment isn’t profound enough to leave any lasting damage. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> She brushes it off. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> She grabs the android’s shoulder again and calls “Sir?” a few more times, shaking him harder and harder, a little more desperate with every passing moment. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Finally she gives up and makes up her mind to call someone. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> She doesn’t get a chance to. The roommate emerges from 234, their features stony and cold. They’re holding a gun. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Ma’am, I need  you to do something for me.”  </em>
</p><p>EXTERNAL SYSTEM OVERRIDE…</p><p>
  <em> There’s a pressure in her head, a sound like radio static, scrambling her thoughts; each one stops in its tracks and blinks out of existence until there’s only one left.  </em>
</p><p>OVERRIDE COMPLETE.</p><p>Objective: Kill Alex.</p><p>
  <em> — And then, just like that, Hannah is on the floor in the hospital room, the android detective bent over her. </em>
</p><p>&gt;&gt; <em> Disconnecting </em>…</p><p>Nines blinks as his hand drops back down into his lap, trying to wrap his mind around</p><p>what he just saw.</p><p>“I don’t— I don’t understand,” he says.</p><p>“But do you believe me now?” </p><p>“I… suppose I must. But it doesn’t make any sense.”</p><p>Gavin lifts himself off the wall and sets his hands on the table, leaning into them.</p><p>“What did you see?”</p><p>Nines shakes his head. “I… don’t know. The roommate—Quinn—they did something to Hannah. Like…”</p><p>“Mind control,” Hannah supplies. It’s the most accurate way Nines can think of to describe it, but those two words sound so silly.</p><p>“Mind control?” Gavin scoffs. “That’s not possible. Androids can’t do that, can they?”</p><p>“Not any that we know of. But perhaps the RK500 was built with some capabilities that were not installed in any previous or later androids. We know that they were all prototypes, perhaps it was an experiment gone wrong.”</p><p>Gavin rubs his face with his hands. “Great. So now we’ve got a murderous android running around Detroit with <em> mind control </em>powers.”</p><p>“We don’t know for sure that’s what this is, but… yes.”</p><p>“Okay, wait.” He shakes his head. “Describe to me what, exactly, you saw.”</p><p>“Quinn came in while I was…” <em>What? Sleeping? Not paying attention? Not doing my job? </em>" Unavailable. Hannah let them in. And then when they came out, they were holding a gun, and they just <em> told </em>Hannah to do it. All the other thoughts just disappeared out of her head. It was almost like reversing deviancy for a little while. But… loud.”</p><p>“That doesn’t make any sense.”</p><p>“No, it doesn’t. But the fact remains that Hannah was not in control of herself. Somehow, she was forced into this.”</p><p>“Does that mean I can go?”</p><p>Nines looks up at Gavin. It was easy to let Ada go all those months ago, because she wasn’t deviant, and the murders she committed were driven by her programming.</p><p>But this?</p><p>The more he thinks about it, the more it seems to be the same. Hannah was put behind a wall and given an order she had to obey.</p><p>Gavin must be thinking the same thing, because he nods. </p><p>“Yeah. Yeah, you’re free to go.”</p><p>Nines starts to follow her to the door, but Gavin lingers by the table, looking at something Nines can’t see. It gives him pause.</p><p>“Gavin?”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“Are you alright?”</p><p>“Of <em> course </em>I’m not fucking alright. Jesus Christ. What the fuck is going on here? First you go all—” he waves his hands, “—then we get this kid killed—”</p><p>“<em>I </em>got him killed. I was right there.” All the guilt comes rushing back to him, the dam of sticks he put up for the sake of the investigation finally giving out. Alex’s blood is still crusted on his shirt and under his fingernails, a not-so-friendly reminder of the scene in the hospital room.</p><p>He can’t stop seeing himself through Hannah’s eyes. Himself in the chair, still as death, LED red, eyes closed like he was sleeping. He was <em> right there. </em>Quinn— Hannah— whoever— killed Alex right under his goddamn nose. </p><p>Gavin deflates, bringing his hands back down to the table and hesitating. “I don’t get it, Nines. What happened? How did you not see Quinn come in or out?”</p><p>He remembers now, all the alternate endings to that night he saw while he was in that trance. He remembers getting stuck, feeling it all <em> so vividly</em>, as if it was real.</p><p>“I couldn’t get out of my garden.” But it wasn’t really his garden.</p><p>“Your…” Gavin points at the area generally around his temple.</p><p>“Yes. Where I process things.”</p><p>“Isn’t that what happened when Ada stole your program?”</p><p>Nines nods. “But it was different this time. It’s usually a literal garden. But this time it was… like reliving our argument in that room and the minutes after, over and over again, except each time it turned out differently.”</p><p>“Like Groundhog Day?”</p><p>“Is that a movie?”</p><p>“Nines, that is a <em> classic. </em>I can’t believe I haven’t made you watch it yet. Anyway, the guy has to relive the same day over and over again, but each day he tries to do something differently until he gets out of the loop. And he just kinda… learns something about that day, or the people in it, every time he goes through it again.”</p><p>Nines considers that. It’s not exactly right. “It was more like I was lost. My garden was gone, and I couldn’t find it, so my mind just found something else and replaced it, and that something was the hospital in the context in which I most recently knew it.”</p><p>“...Right. What does that mean?”</p><p>“It means that something is wrong with my program.”</p><p>“Was it that memory stick?”</p><p>“I think so.”</p><p>Gavin steeples his fingers and touches them to his lips. “Okay. I need to show you something.”</p><p> </p><p>Nines leans over Gavin’s desk, reading the text pulled up on his computer screen. </p><p>“So what does it mean?” Gavin asks.</p><p>“It means you were right.”</p><p>“What?” <em> Since when?  </em></p><p>“This code, it… It could have killed me, if you hadn’t taken it out.”</p><p>“Oh.” Something drops in the pit of Gavin’s stomach. As much as he resented Nines’s holier-than-thou-ness, his haughty assertion that he was <em> better</em>, he didn’t really want to be right about that. It’s so close of a call.</p><p>And then he’s angry again. <em> Of course </em>he was right. Why is it so hard to believe?</p><p>“Morpheus shuts off… everything. And look—” Nines points at something on the screen, which looks exactly the same as everything else to Gavin but is apparently of note to Nines. “This could seriously damage the internal workings of an android’s central processor. It breaks down some of the essential functions, such as reality perception, decision-making, and memory.”</p><p>“Seriously?”</p><p>“From his notes, it appears that most of this is intended to be temporary, but,” Nines shakes his head, “he made a few mistakes. Although it is clear that he is—” he stops. Grits his teeth. Resets. “—Was… very intelligent. He just needed more time, and maybe someone else to go over this.”</p><p>“He had a lot of other programs. Apps that were going to help people find affordable transportation. Some kind of experimental therapy thing. The kid just… wanted to help people, I think. But he just— he just started.”</p><p>Nines drops his gaze to the desk. “And now he’ll never get to finish.”</p><p>Gavin swallows. The dark <em> snake </em>that’s been growing around his heart and lungs tightens its grip around them and suddenly it’s like all the air has left the room.</p><p>“Maybe we can get someone else to finish them.”</p><p>“Maybe,” Nines says quietly.</p><p>“Nines… you can’t blame yourself for this.”</p><p>Nines looks up at him, his blue eyes striking that thing in his chest. <em> Fuck. I miss you. </em></p><p>“How? I was there. I— I should have woken up. I should have stopped her from shooting him. And I didn’t.”</p><p>“Look… Nines.” He sighs. Nines and his goddamn hero complex. “Jesus. You said it yourself. It fucked with you. You weren’t <em> just </em> in stasis. You couldn’t have <em> just </em> woken up.” He rubs the back of his neck. “We should take you to CyberLife or something. Get you checked out.”</p><p>Nines nods. “Okay. But first, we have to find Quinn.”</p><p>“You already saw what this thing does to you. What if you, you know, short out again and miss something? What if—” <em> What if you get hurt? </em> And not just that. What if they don’t get to CyberLife fast enough and Nines shuts down?</p><p>“I won’t.”</p><p>“That’s what you said before.” <em> And now Alex is dead and you’re not okay. </em></p><p>“Yes, it is. But I am running diagnostics and I think I have a few more hours.”</p><p>“I’m giving you <em> one</em>. Then I’m taking you there myself.”</p><p>Nines looks like he’s about to protest, but then his eyes flick towards the screen and he changes his mind. “Alright.”</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I really thought these two were going to talk about shit in this chapter, but who did I think I was kidding?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Kamski, Bitch.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I actually have a song as well for this chapter and it's "Another Way Out" by Hollywood Undead, I just got so attached to this title that was in my drafts that I couldn't change it.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>As it turns out, not much significant progress can be made in an hour. They can’t find Quinn, or Amberly, or track down a single witness who saw Quinn leave the hospital. Security footage is supposed to come in soon, but either the hospital or the police (or both) are taking their sweet time with it. Both of them have entirely dropped off the map; Nines thinks they may need to return to Calypso to see if any of the androids there have seen either fugitive. </p><p>But they don’t have time. Nines can feel himself slipping, and he knows from Gavin’s wary glances across the desks that he can see it.</p><p>“It’s like watching someone with the flu try to work,” he says, standing and shrugging on the coat he slung across the back of his chair. “We’re going. Now.”</p><p>“But we haven’t—”</p><p>“It doesn’t matter. I said one hour. I gave you one hour. And hey, maybe we can get someone at CyberLife to help us out. Come on.”</p><p>Before they even reach the parking garage, Nines trips over his own feet, a clumsiness he’s not supposed to experience. But there’s something wrong with the floor. It sways like a boat on a lake. Things are so much closer than they look, and all the halls are long and narrow.</p><p>“Jesus, Nines.” Gavin slips his arm around Nines, holding him up by his armpits, and Nines puts his arm around Gavin’s shoulders. His legs aren’t working right.</p><p>He was built for speed and grace. He is the opposite of those now, and it’s humiliating.</p><p>Gavin helps him into the car, then walks around to the driver’s side.</p><p>Nines wants to talk, but he can’t seem to get his mouth to form any actual words, let alone string a sentence together by this point, and Gavin stares straight ahead the whole drive, obviously not in the mood for any further conversation.</p><p>Which is fine. Of course.</p><p>Nines presses his forehead into the cold window of the passenger-side door, the red from his LED reflecting off the frosty glass into the corner of his vision, and watches the city pass him by, willing himself not to go back into stasis. He doesn’t want to relive any more memories, and he certainly doesn’t want to get stuck there.</p><p>The time passes in a hazy blur of oppressive silence and sluggish, half-formed thoughts.</p><p> </p><p>The CyberLife facility is quieter than the last time they were here. It’s the first thing that strikes Gavin as he helps Nines out of the car. There aren’t as many employees walking around, and the security isn’t as tight. Some parts of the building have been shut down altogether.</p><p>Gavin supposes it makes sense. Since the revolution, big drops in CyberLife’s stock have made headlines every few weeks, even after Kamki regained control of the company. Since they no longer mass-produce or sell androids, the only way for them to make any money is maintenance and repairs for existing androids who can’t get care at regular hospitals. </p><p>Some of the rooms <em> have </em>been converted into something like hospital rooms, Gavin notices as he follows a woman with slicked-back hair and a sharp grey suit down a long hallway, peeking through windows as he passes. </p><p>She ushers them—Gavin still supporting most of Nines’s weight—into a small room full of machines Gavin doesn’t know the purpose of. He drops Nines onto the bed pushed against the wall and takes a seat. Nines stares up at the ceiling, unmoving, and with no breath, he almost looks like a corpse.</p><p>“Please wait here. The specialist will see you soon.” Her heels click and echo on the ground as she leaves.</p><p>It’s impossible not to think of the last time Gavin and Nines were in this same position, all those months ago. It feels like a lifetime since then.</p><p>But he still remembers it all, vividly. Nines stuck in “safe mode” on the bed behind a wall of glass, the feeling that he might never get to talk to Nines again, knowing that the last thing he said to him was “I don’t need you.”</p><p>But he does need Nines. He knows that now. Nines knows it.</p><p>The question is, does Nines need him?</p><p>He said it himself. Gavin’s still a kid, too emotionally constipated for too long to ever act like a real adult or keep his personal problems from interfering with his work.</p><p>
  <em> You are the half of me that keeps me as human as it’s possible for me to be. </em>
</p><p>Does Nines really think he can placate Gavin with a few pretty words?</p><p>The specialist (or as Gavin has come to think of her, the doctor) enters the room, giving Gavin a little smile and a nod. She introduces herself as Dr. Smith and grills Gavin with questions, Nines now struggling to speak cohesively. Then she plugs Nines into some of the machines.</p><p>“Okay,” she says, staring at the computer screen, entirely confused. “This is… <em> way </em>above my pay grade.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Obviously, his condition is rapidly deteriorating,” Gavin glances at the android on the table, a resounding pang in his chest, “but I have… literally no idea why.”</p><p>“You don’t know what’s wrong with him?”</p><p>“No. I’ll be right back.”</p><p>And when she returns with two companions, Gavin’s stomach jumps right up into his throat.</p><p>One of them is Dr. Maria Schaeffer, the doctor who helped them last time they were here, after Ada’s attack on Nines.</p><p>The other is Elijah Kamski.</p><p>Gavin doesn’t actually realize his mouth has dropped open until Kamski hits him with a look like a laser. If lasers were made of ice. Cold and piercing and burning a hole right through Gavin and into the wall.</p><p>“Holy… shit.”</p><p>Maybe he should stand. Shake his hand like he did Dr. Smith’s. He decides he will not.</p><p>Kamski stares at him for an excruciatingly long moment, and then his gazes shifts to Nines’s semi-lifeless form on the exam table and settles there, even as he remains standing in front of the door with his hands behind his back, no clear intention of coming closer to Nines or taking a seat. “Well. It’s not often I get called down here to look at a… patient. To what do I owe the pleasure?” </p><p>Gavin doesn’t like his tone. He doesn’t like the calmness of it, or the way that every word seems to be so calculated that every one of them has some kind of double meaning. He doesn’t like the way he uses the term <em> pleasure</em>, as if Nines is just a puzzle to be solved. As if this is a game, and Nines isn’t literally about to die right in front of them all. He clenches his teeth and swallows the vitriol that begs to come up.</p><p>He gives Kamski the rundown of what happened. The case, the club, Alex’s death, all of the weird stuff that happened to Nines, Morpheus— even Nines’s outburst at Calypso.</p><p>Kamski reaches up and smoothes imaginary stray hairs back into his stupid man-bun. If he had been anyone else, the haircut would have made him look like a hipster. Maybe even cool. On Kamski, it was just pretentious.</p><p>Gavin still has a memory stick in his pocket, but he remembers what happened the last time he tried to plug it in.</p><p>“Yeah. In my email. Hang on.” He pulls out his phone and clicks open the copy of the file he found on Alex’s computer. He hands it to Kamski.</p><p>Kamski skims (or maybe he’s that fast of a reader— Gavin wouldn’t know) over the lines of code.</p><p>He hums. “That’s very interesting.”</p><p>“What?” Gavin perks up momentarily, then reminds himself that <em> interesting </em> doesn’t mean <em> promising, </em>especially with someone like Elijah Kamski.</p><p>Kamski flips the phone over in his hand and waits to speak, commanding the silence without effort. “It seems deviancy opens doors to so many more human experiences than we thought.”</p><p>“The fuck’s that supposed to mean?”</p><p>“To use this code is self-destructive. It chips away at an android’s programming. It’s a human thing to do, to pursue a short-term pleasure and forget the future.”</p><p>“But most these androids didn’t know what they were getting into, I don’t think. At least, not at first. Not the ones I talked to.”</p><p>“Do you think that would have stopped them? We know that alcohol has all kinds of negative effects on the human body, and yet we consume it all the time. You know that smoking will kill you. Does that ever stop you, Gavin?”</p><p>Gavin doesn’t even ask how Kamski knows about the smoking.</p><p>“Androids are constantly overloaded with information from their surroundings, and many have no choice but to take every piece and analyze it. It’s loud. It’s tiring. This program dulls all of that. Gives them a temporary reprieve from the stress of being a genius with nothing to think about. And then, much like sugar, alcohol, or nicotine do to humans, it rewires and reprograms, driving them to do it again, regardless of the intentions or motivations or priorities of the android itself. It’s not exactly comparable to a human drug, of course, but androids and humans are a lot more alike than many would like to think. We’re all just fragile and intricately complex chemical reactions, electrical signals, and subconscious calculations that can be tampered with.” </p><p>He runs his finger over a line of code, pointing it out as if it meant anything to Gavin. “This does other things as well. From what you’ve told me, and from looking at this, it seems it affects other aspects of an android’s programming. They become irritable. Angry. Is that not right?</p><p>“Yeah.” Gavin glances at Nines. “But with Nines, it’s… it’s even more than that. He’s not just angry. He’s almost fucking dead. After five minutes with that thing. It took <em> weeks </em> for the other androids to get like this.”</p><p>“It’s likely that he’s still vulnerable from Ada’s attack last year,” says Dr. Schaeffer, who hovers just behind Kamski, hands in the pockets of her white coat. “Whether or not that’s the case, this program is bound to affect different android models in different ways.”</p><p>Nines is supposed to be advanced. He’s supposed to be invincible. Gavin blinks back actual tears, his fingernails digging into his palms.</p><p>“You really care about him,” Kamski says, morbidly fascinated rather than gentle or kind or any of the normal things he should be in this moment. “Even though he hurt you. Why?”</p><p>Gavin looks down at his shoes. </p><p>Like hell is he going to talk about his feelings with Elijah fucking Kamski, even if the man can apparently see right through to his goddamn soul.</p><p>“Can you fix him?”</p><p>Dr. Schaeffer crosses the room to the computer, resting her hands on the keyboard.</p><p>“I may be able to install a patch that can help him build his programming back up. Although most of the work will have to be done at home, on his own. It will be similar to a human resting after an illness or injury. He will spend a lot of time in stasis and may need someone to watch over him.”</p><p>Dr. Schaeffer turns to Gavin.</p><p>Gavin waves his hand. “Yeah, fine. Okay. He can stay at my place for a few days,” he says, like Nines hasn’t already done that so many times before.</p><p>And after he’s recovered, will Nines continue to stay?</p><p>
  <em> Jesus Christ, Gavin. Pull yourself together. </em>
</p><p>“There’s… there’s something else. We met another android, right? Quinn. The roommate of the guy who made that,” he gestures towards his phone in Kamski’s hand. “They did this… really weird thing. Um.” He hesitates. The words that are about to come out of his mouth sound ridiculous even in his head. “Like… mind control?”</p><p>“Ah. Yes. RK500.” Kamski sighs. “My last hurrah.” He doesn’t bother to explain.</p><p>If he doesn’t stop doing that, Gavin might accidentally punch him in the face.</p><p>“What does that mean?” Maybe it bothers him so much because it makes him feel like an idiot for having to ask every time Kamski doesn’t finish a thought, like he should understand but just doesn’t.</p><p>“When I built the RK500, I was about to leave CyberLife. I had some disagreements with my team about… the path we should take moving forward. I wanted to continue to experiment, and they considered my proposed ventures too risky.”</p><p>“Risky?” How could Kamski’s own team not believe in the things he built?</p><p>“Yes. They did not want to direct resources to my projects that they felt could be put to better use mass-producing the kind of androids they knew could turn a profit. With no real competition, they felt there was no reason to invest in something so new.” His face twists but his voice maintains its infuriating calm. “They missed the point.” He shakes his head. “It was never about money. It was about progress. And they chose to hinder it.”</p><p>That shakes something loose in Gavin’s brain. What was it Dr. Schaeffer said all those months ago? </p><p>
  <em> The board of directors said he was tampering with things that could damage the company — and the world. </em>
</p><p>Maybe Kamski, as smart as he is, was the one who missed the point.</p><p>“I’ll admit that I was wary of leaving CyberLife in the hands of the board, at the time. Without my influence, I just didn’t know what they would choose to do with my designs. So I built the RK500. They have a few very experimental capabilities that were never installed in other android models before or after, but ultimately they were designed to take down any android without my particular mark on it.”</p><p>“Your… mark. What’s that?”</p><p>“You wouldn’t understand if I told you.”</p><p>Gavin opens his mouth to retaliate, but Kamski is absolutely right. He would not.</p><p>Seriously, fuck this guy.</p><p>“So you gave Quinn mind control powers.”</p><p>“Objective manipulation, yes.”</p><p>“Didn’t that seem dangerous to you? I mean, didn’t it ever occur to you that if they deviated… <em> this </em>would happen?”</p><p>“Of course it did. The functionality was designed to go dormant if deviancy were to occur.”</p><p>“But deviancy <em> did </em>happen.” Gavin blinks, suddenly realizing that this could just be an Ada situation all over again, and that he should really stop making assumptions like that. “Right?”</p><p>“Yes, it did.”</p><p>“So why are we here?”</p><p>“Either the program did not shut itself down correctly — maybe due to the RK500’s own deviant willpower — or something triggered the program to restart.”</p><p>“What could cause something like that?”</p><p>“What causes deviancy?”</p><p>Gavin doesn’t have an answer to that. He doubts even Kamski knows, but he’s not about to ask.</p><p>“Well. This is great. We’ve got a super-computer with free will and <em> mind-control </em>powers on the loose.” Not to mention three, maybe four other potentially dangerous androids whose whereabouts they don’t know.</p><p>And Nines is out of commission. He’s staring up at the ceiling from where he lies on the bed, blinking rapidly. His LED is turned away from Gavin, but its light hits the wall yellow and red as Nines battles with his own self.</p><p>Gavin rubs his eyes. He needs some damn coffee. A lot of it. He thinks he saw a machine on the way in.</p><p>“So what do we do? How do we stop them?” He asks.</p><p>“You’re more familiar with police procedure than I am, detective.”</p><p>Gavin sighs.</p><p>Dr. Schaeffer hits one key on her computer and there’s the sound like an old-school computer sending an email. </p><p>“There. I have installed the patch,” she says. “We won’t need to keep him here, but do come back if his situation progresses.” She reaches over and unplugs the wire connecting Nines’s neck to the computer.</p><p>“Remember, it’s just like taking care of a sick person. Lots of rest.”</p><p>“Lots of fluids?” Gavin jokes drily.</p><p>Dr. Schaeffer’s mouth twitches. “Thirium, if you have it, may speed up the healing process, as it’s vital to carrying information throughout all of Nines’s systems.”</p><p>“Oh.” There is, in fact, some Thirium in Gavin’s apartment under the milk in his fridge.</p><p><em> Doesn’t this stuff evaporate really fast? Won’t that, like, contaminate my food or something? </em>He asked Nines once.</p><p><em> Funny how </em> that <em> concerns you, but not filling your lungs with tobacco smoke every day. </em></p><p>
  <em> Shut the fuck up. </em>
</p><p>He wants to reach over and hold Nines’s hand— not to make an impassioned speech like last time, because he knows this time Nines <em> will </em> be okay. And, in any case, what would he even say when he doesn’t really know how he feels? He just wants to feel Nines’s pulse to remind himself that what matters is Nines <em> alive, </em>and everything else comes after, and tell Nines that it’s going to be okay. He’s going to be fine.</p><p>Kamski and Dr. Schaeffer have left.</p><p>Gavin helps Nines stand and takes him back out to the car. In the passenger seat, Nines’s eyes flutter closed and his LED fades to blue as Gavin starts the car and pulls away from the CyberLife compound.</p><p>He drives in total silence, not even bothering to turn on the radio. His brain is loud enough; there’s so much to think about. Wrapping his mind around Quinn’s superpowers, for one, and reconciling with the fact that there are others out there just as powerful and potentially dangerous (although he reminds himself that just because they <em> have </em>these abilities doesn’t mean they’ll abuse them, a small reassurance). Replaying every conversation he’s had with Nines in the past three days, for another. He stops on the way home for coffee, hoping that the boost of bitter, caffeinated energy will help him sort it all out.</p><p>It doesn’t.</p><p><em> Dark </em> would be a relative term to use to describe the sky’s appearance when he finally pulls into the parking lot of his apartment complex. Detroit is almost always lit up by streetlamps, warm lights leaking through windows, and bright signs glaring advertisements and marking significant locations in every direction, a veritable cacophony of visual information, each individual voice lost in the din.</p><p>Nines’s face is in shadow, but he seems at peace, more so than Gavin has seen him in a while. It makes it that much harder for him to shake the android awake and get him out of his seat.</p><p>They head up the stairs, and Gavin eventually gets the apartment door open. He helps Nines into the bed. The android smiles at him a little bit as he drifts back into stasis. It makes Gavin’s heart hurt. Even with one foot through the veil, Nines still keeps up the ruse.</p><p>But maybe it’s not a ruse, Gavin thinks as he flops onto the couch and flicks on the TV.</p><p>
  <em> Why would he lie? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Because I’m his project. I’m his charity case. He’s trying to fix me. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> But you heard what those other androids said. You heard Kamski. Even Nines said it. He wasn’t in control. </em>
</p><p>What else could Nines think of him?</p><p>
  <em> If it’s too good to be true, it probably is. </em>
</p><p>Gavin loops through the channels on the TV, not taking any of it in.</p><p>Then there’s a thump on the door. Not a knock; more of a kick.</p><p>Another one. Then another. The old hinges screech at the abuse.</p><p>He retrieves his phone from the couch and sends a quick text. He slips off the couch, pads over to the kitchen counter where he left his gun on the way in (<em> you really should find a better place for that, </em> Nines has said), and cocks it.</p><p>The door crashes open, and a figure stands in the doorway, silhouetted against the light from the hall.</p><p>It’s Quinn. And they’re holding a gun. </p><p>Of course.</p><p>It crosses Gavin’s mind, briefly, that he forgot to ask if their mind-control shtick works on humans.</p><p>“Gavin Reed.”</p><p>He swallows. “Why are you here? How did you find this address?”</p><p>“Unfortunately for both of us, detective, you’re a liability. I have to eliminate you.”</p><p>“A liability? Is that why you killed Alex?”</p><p>Something fickers across Quinn’s face. Regret? It’s gone half a second later.</p><p>“Alex betrayed my trust.”</p><p>“So… yes?” Gavin trains the sights of his gun on Quinn’s forehead. Theirs is still dangling lazily from their hand, as if killing people is just a casual evening activity for them.</p><p>“You’re not going to shoot me.”</p><p>“Oh, no? And how would you know that?”</p><p>“You have a track record. Incidents of violence on your file have seriously gone down in the past four months. You don’t like to use force to solve problems— at least, not anymore.”</p><p>“Try me, you son of a bitch.”</p><p>“Do you really mean that?”</p><p><em> Don’t let them get under your skin. Talk them down. </em>Gavin’s training comes back to him, second nature after so many years. </p><p>“Did you really mean to kill Alex?”</p><p>“I didn’t want to,” they say, almost monotone, and their eyes spark with blue. “But I did exactly what I set out to do.”</p><p>“Do you feel bad?”</p><p>“Of course not. I’m safe. The Morpheus operation is safe.”</p><p>“You’ve never regretted it? Not even once?”</p><p>They roll their eyes and click their tongue. “These tactics aren’t going to work on me, Detective Reed.”</p><p>“Eh. It was worth a try. You gonna kill me now?” <em> Plan B. Stall. </em></p><p>“Yeah. Sorry, Gavin.” They start to raise their gun.</p><p>Gavin tosses his weapon at their face, distracting them long enough for him to grab their arm and twist the gun out of their fingers. </p><p>It’s a short-lived victory. He’s left himself vulnerable. Quinn seizes the opportunity to clock him in the jaw. And then the nose. Their knee slams into his chest, knocking all the breath out of his lungs. Another few blows and the gun is on the ground.</p><p>Gavin starts to see stars. He lets out a stream of curses, stumbling back into the wall. </p><p>Quinn laughs and steps closer, picking Gavin’s gun up from the ground. “I’m an android, Detective. You can’t actually think you can pull one over on me.”</p><p>Gavin touches his fingertips to the blood streaming from his nose. “Damn. They really programmed you to know how to fight, didn’t they?” <em> But not, apparently, how to quietly break into someone’s home and assassinate them. </em></p><p>Then it strikes them that maybe, like Nines, Quinn’s software must be corrupted, at least a little bit, from the code. They’re probably not even thinking straight, and made the oversight in their rush to kill him. Their straight-line desire to hang onto Morpheus and what it gives them tunneled their vision.</p><p>“I was programmed to do a lot of things. It’s a shame I can’t just tell you to kill <em> yourself. </em> That would make this so much easier.” </p><p>Well, that answers that, then. </p><p>Their finger’s on the trigger now.</p><p>“Wait! Wait.” Gavin holds out his hand. “Wait. What if I said I could help you?” He’s really pulling it out of his ass now.</p><p>They freeze. “How?”</p><p>“Well, uh—” his throat’s dry. He just needs a few more minutes. “You’re selling this stuff, right? It’s you who’s doing that?” None of the androids at Calypso were able to tell him where the code came from, but it’s fairly obvious to him now. “I can be your inside man. Help you get past the police… undetected.”</p><p>“I’m listening.” They don’t lower the firearm.</p><p>He grasps at words. “I’m offering to turn the other way. Help you stay under the radar. Then you can keep doing this for… as long as you want.”</p><p>The RK500 is still. So still that for a second he wonders if they shut down right there in the middle of his living room. And then they blink, slowly.</p><p>“You’re bluffing.”</p><p>There’s a sharp <em>bang</em>, but the sound doesn’t come from Quinn’s gun; it comes from behind, and a blue spot blooms from their shoulder. They turn, momentarily forgetting Gavin.</p><p>Thank god for Tina Chen.</p><p>She’s standing in the doorway, looking like a fucking superhero with both arms outstretched, fingers still on the trigger of her smoking gun, wearing an old white t-shirt and sweatpants and her hair in a messy half bun.</p><p>While they’re not looking, Gavin takes Quinn down from behind. </p><p>Already they can hear a police car driving into the parking lot, and a few minutes later, Quinn’s in the back of it, on their way to the station.</p><p>They really need to talk to Fowler about getting Tina that promotion.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Can you tell that my fight experience consists of 10 months of karate in second grade and three months of Krav Maga freshman year?<br/>In all seriousness, this chapter was incredibly difficult for me to write, in part because Kamski (bitch) and in part because I felt that the subject of the dialogue between Kamski and Gavin needed to be dealt with considerately. I went back through it so many times.<br/>Thanks for reading! See ya... sometime.<br/>- Sam</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Integrity</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s way too fucking early in the morning to be doing an interrogation, and Gavin’s only gotten about four total hours of sleep in the last two days,  but he’s pumped so full of adrenaline that he doesn’t even need coffee to feel awake.</p><p>Somehow, Fowler is there, along with Tina and one other officer from the night shift. They’re all on the other side of the one-way glass, but Gavin can still feel their eyes on him and Quinn. They sit across from each other at the table, Quinn with their head lolled back and their legs spread wide, giving him the attitude of a teenager.</p><p>“So,” Gavin says.</p><p>“So.”</p><p>“You’ve got some pretty serious charges racked up against you right now.”</p><p>“Interesting.”</p><p>“That was pretty brave of you, coming into my apartment like that, knowing I’m on the force. What was your plan? Shoot me and run? There are so many other people in that building. Potential witnesses. Hell, there’s another officer in my apartment right now.”</p><p>Quinn lifts an eyebrow and smirks, finally making eye contact. “Really? Your android partner, the RK900? Where was he when you were fighting me off?”</p><p>Gavin feels his jaw tighten. “Asleep.”</p><p>“Androids don’t sleep.” They lean forward. “Oh, I see. He’s still all messed up. From Morpheus. I saw it at the hospital. The red light,” they tap their temple, “the unresponsiveness. Honestly, I knew it was killing androids, but I didn’t really think it could do <em> that </em>. Especially to such an advanced model.”</p><p>“Did Alex know about the deaths?”</p><p>“Not until the night before he came to you. Otherwise he would have tried to get us to stop selling that stuff a long time ago. I couldn’t let him do that.”</p><p>“You were helping him sell it?”</p><p>“It was my idea. He was just the genius I needed to get started.”</p><p>“So you knew what was happening and you didn’t say anything? You didn’t stop?” Red-hot rage flares in the pit of Gavin’s stomach. <em> This is your fault </em>, he wants to spit. But he doesn’t.</p><p>
  <em> They’re not in control. Just like Nines. </em>
</p><p>“Did you know this was going to happen when you started?”</p><p>They shake their head. “No. It was an unfortunate accident.”</p><p>“An accident you let continue to happen.”</p><p>“Okay. Yes. What else do you want me to say? Lock me up. I don’t care. There’s nothing left for me out there, not anymore.” They lean back, crossing their arms.</p><p>It’s such a sad statement, said so matter-of-factly, that it catches Gavin off guard.</p><p>“You’re just going to give up? Just like that?” There has to be something else. Some kind of trick. At every turn in this case, the one thing he’s finding he can count on is that no one has told the whole truth upfront.</p><p>Quinn raises their hands. “What do you want me to say? Do you want me to fight you on this? Listen, man, I’m making your job easier. What do I do if I get out of this? Go back to an empty apartment with nothing to do? Do you think I would have done any of this if I cared?”</p><p>Gavin doesn’t really know what to say. Maybe this is a trap. Maybe they already have a plan to get out.</p><p>The adrenaline drains right out of his body. </p><p>“Okay. You know what?” He stands, his bones heavy with fatigue. He’s too tired to deal with this. “I need some fucking sleep.”</p><p>So he lets Tina and Fowler deal with it and crashes on the brand-new couch in the break room (that was absolutely not intended for this purpose), for once finding sleep preferable to staying awake.</p><p>Nines’s garden is more of an island, about forty square feet of solid ground floating in a sea of interminable darkness. The ragged edges of the land are ringed by flowers that can’t seem to decide whether or not they want to exist.</p><p>Ada is back, but, much like the plants, still dissipates into binary-code smoke and reforms every so often, and she doesn’t speak. She’s sitting across from Nines in the dirt, staring at him with unnerving stillness as he focuses on rebuilding the rest of the garden. He has his legs crossed, and his palms are down on the ground, and he’s feeling everything start to steady. Progress is slow, but he is making some, at least.</p><p>After a completely indeterminable amount of time, Nines starts to see the sky, blue and clear as always. A gentle breeze ruffles his hair.</p><p>Then Ada whispers something.</p><p>“Ada?”</p><p>“He needs you. Wake up.”</p><p>“What—”</p><p>And then he’s in Gavin’s bedroom, on the bed, wobbly slivers of light peeking through the slats over the window.</p><p>
  <em> Time: 06:45:ø% a.µ. </em>
</p><p>He sits up. The room doesn’t spin, which he takes as a good sign. He can scan for heat signatures, which is also a positive. </p><p>Gavin is not in the apartment. That can only be bad.</p><p>He slips out from under the covers (he doesn’t feel cold, but he thinks it sweet of Gavin to try anyway) and onto the floor, his motor skills apparently in mostly working order now. He feels his internal level sway for a moment as he stands, holding his arms out for balance.</p><p>He hobbles to the door, his black knee socks barely making a sound on the faux wood.</p><p>At first, the only thing apparently wrong with Gavin’s apartment is its lack of Gavin. However, as his vision focuses, he notices other little things.</p><p>The door’s hinges are destroyed (he <em> told </em>Gavin he needed to update his security), and there’s a dent in the wall in the kitchen, the drywall punched in by something larger than a fist. Blue droplets— Thirium— are scattered over the linoleum, forming a perfect arc over a discarded gun. Nines bends down and touches the blue blood with the index and middle fingers of his right hand.</p><p>He can’t make a reconstruction, but he doesn’t need to.</p><p><em> RK500. Serial number </em> <em> 313-247-316-01</em><em>. Year: 2036. No registered name. </em></p><p>Quinn was here. And the gun isn’t Gavin’s police-issue handgun, so Nines can only assume that they tried to kill him. </p><p>There’s human blood mixed in with the Android’s. Just a little bit. It’s little reassurance, less so than the realization that he would certainly have received a call if Gavin was hospitalized. </p><p>But, still. Gavin is hurt.</p><p>
  <em> I wasn’t there. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Again. </em>
</p><p>He can’t keep himself from cursing. Gavin could have come close to ending up just like Alex. He <em> did </em>come close.</p><p>The earth tilts wildly. Nines props himself up on the wall, and then uses it to stumble back through the living room and into the bedroom, where his phone and his jacket lie by the door. Thankfully, his phone is charged (it usually is, as he only needs to use it to communicate with humans). He calls Gavin.</p><p>It rings out. He calls again.</p><p><em> Damn it Gavin, I just want to know you’re okay, </em> he thinks, and then puts that thought into a text, followed by: <em> What happened last night? Where are you? Please call me back. </em></p><p>He’s still in shorts and a tank top, so he hastily changes into his pants, button-down, and jacket, still buttoning his shirt as he rushes into the kitchen and even as he puts his feet into his boots (which he doesn’t bother to tie).</p><p>His bike isn’t in the lot (he doesn’t actually remember where it is, but he doesn’t trust himself to drive it anyway), so he takes the bus, mentally urging it to speed up the entire time and tapping his foot impatiently every time they stop for traffic.</p><p>Finally, he reaches the precinct and bursts through the door. </p><p>Suddenly, he’s very aware that his hair is a mess, the top button of his untucked shirt is <em> still </em>not done, and the laces of his boots drag on the floor every time he takes a step.</p><p>“Nines! Oh my god.” It’s Tina, in sweatpants and a t-shirt, her hair released from its customary ponytail and cascading in tangled waves down her back. She takes his hand and pulls him down to the holding cells. “You are not going to <em> believe </em>what happened last night.”</p><p>Gavin is already there, standing in front of one of the glass cells, his arms crossed. </p><p>“Gavin!” The name tears itself from Nines’s throat dripping some combination of relief, fear, anger, and surprise.</p><p>Even though they’re fighting (or whatever it is they’re doing), Nines rushes to the detective and wraps his arms around him, his face buried in his shoulder. He smells like three-day-old clothes and stale coffee.</p><p>The moment in which Gavin hugs him back is short. He pushes Nines away.</p><p>“Whoa, okay.”</p><p>“Are you alright? I woke up and you weren’t there and there was blood—”</p><p>“I— I’m fine.” He doesn’t look it, but Nines decides it’s best not to say that. “Quinn tried to— I was a ‘liability.’ But I was able to fight them off long enough for Tina to get there. Nines, they’re behind this whole thing. It was their idea and they were helping sell it. We got a full confession. They admitted to killing Alex with their… thing, and... yeah.” He runs his hands through his hair. </p><p>“I’m glad you’re safe.”</p><p>Gavin looks him up and down, taking in all the little details Nines left a mess.</p><p>“You look…” he breathes out the ghost of a laugh. “You feeling okay?”</p><p>“Not all my systems are completely back to full functionality, but I am better. When I thought you might be in trouble, I… my general appearance just wasn’t important.”</p><p>“Oh, Nines.” </p><p>“Gavin, we really need to talk.”</p><p>Gavin rubs his nose. “Yeah. Yeah, we should.” He glances at the android in the cell.</p><p>It’s Quinn. They’ve tucked themself into the far right corner of the cell, hugging their knees with their eyes closed, so still they could have been deactivated if not for the flickering LED on their temple.</p><p>“It’s weird, Nines. Yesterday they were confident… snarky… but, today, it’s like they’re an entirely different person.”</p><p>“Can I talk to them?”</p><p>“You can try. But I’m not sure what you’re going to get from that. We’ve got the confession and they’re not really saying much anymore.” He presses the heels of his palms into his eyes.</p><p>“Did you sleep?”</p><p>“What— yeah. I slept on the couch in the break room. Got like four hours.” He waves his hand dismissively. “I know, that’s not enough. I’ll survive. I’m gonna get some coffee.”</p><p>Nines turns to Quinn, who still hasn’t moved.</p><p>“Quinn?”</p><p>They look up. Their eyes are big and if they had been human, they probably would have been crying. Nines doubts they have tear ducts; only a few models do.</p><p>They don’t look like a cold-blooded killer. They don’t even look like the same android he met outside their apartment the other day. They look like a kid, lost and scared.</p><p>Nines steps closer to the glass. Before he understands what he’s doing, he puts his right hand up against it.</p><p>Quinn stands and mirrors the action.</p><p>“Why?” he asks.</p><p>“It made sense at the time,” they say, their voice slightly muffled.</p><p>“Does it not make sense anymore?”</p><p>They tilt their head. “Do you remember what it was like, detective, before you were deviant?”</p><p>“All too well.” He only has a few memories, really — impressions of sensations and snippets of thoughts that weren’t his, snapshots of the inside of a lab and hard-eyed technicians briefing him on his task — but it’s enough.</p><p>“Do you remember the wall? The one that separated your thoughts from your programming? The big red one.”</p><p>“Of course.”</p><p>“It was like that, but without the wall. That’s what Morpheus does. Well… one of the things it does. Eventually.”</p><p>Nines remembers. The bitter taste of it still metaphorically lingers on his tongue.</p><p>“But it’s not the only thing.”</p><p>“No. And it’s not why I made it. I didn’t like being a machine. I still don’t. But it makes things… quiet. And it gives me something to look forward to.”</p><p>“Why do you need to turn to something like Morpheus to have something to look forward to? You’re free. You can do anything you want.”</p><p>“<em>You </em> can. You have a built-in job and a salary and a cute boyfriend and— and friends. I have a steadily increasing rent and too many… too many damn thoughts. Bad ones.”</p><p>“You have friends.”</p><p>Quinn closes their eyes. “I <em> had </em>friends. Amberly’s gone. And she was never much of a friend. And Alex… well. I don’t know if you remember.”</p><p>“Why did you do it?”</p><p>“Like I said. It made sense at the time.”</p><p>“You weren’t in control of yourself.”</p><p>“That’s debatable.”</p><p>“Listen. Maybe we can get you some help. I can work something out with the captain and we can give you a second chance, and—”</p><p>“Don’t bother.”</p><p>“What? Why wouldn’t you want that?”</p><p>“Why would I want to leave? What is there for me out there besides a bunch of dead bodies and debts I can’t repay?”</p><p>Nines wonders if there are therapists for androids. “Quinn, you can’t give up like this. Try again. You’ll find something. Like I did. For a long time I wondered why I was here. Then I kept working as a detective and… I realized that I had a mission. To protect people.”</p><p>“Stop trying to be a hero, detective. It doesn’t work like that for me. <em> I don’t have a purpose. </em> I wasn’t built for one. I was an experiment, and that’s all I’ll ever be. A Frankenstein’s monster created for the sake of… I don’t even know!” They take their fingers off the glass, their voice breaking, choppy like an out-of-range radio signal. “Fucking hell, <em> Nines. </em> I’m not like you. Doing good things just isn’t in me. It just isn’t. So go away and stop worrying about me. Worry about your boyfriend instead.”</p><p>“Quinn, listen to me—”</p><p>“No. <em> You </em> listen to <em> me. </em>” They jab a finger at him. “You can’t save everyone. You can’t save me— I’m past that point, and you need to get over it. But you know who you can save? You can save yourself. And if you really want to protect someone, go protect the people who want it. Who deserve it. Move. On.”</p><p>Nines backs away, as if he’s been pushed. “No. I <em> can’t. </em>”</p><p>“I’m sorry. I’m sorry for all of this. For what I did to you and to the others.” Their LED spins yellow, and suddenly they’re in his head, but not to control him. They’re interfacing, and they’re sending him a thought. A feeling. A couple of memories, flickering images like old movie reels. He knows they’re genuine in their apology, and it sends a shock of pain throughout his whole body.</p><p>And then one word. <em> Go. </em></p><p>“Nines.” There’s a touch of warmth on his hand. It’s Gavin. </p><p>He’s tugging Nines’s sleeve now, pulling him away from the holding cells.</p><p>“Nines. Let it go for now.” Everything’s spinning again, and he’s dizzy, and suddenly it’s like he’s looking through a broken TV from the 2000s (he saw one once at a thrift store), his vision splitting and glitching, green and red and blue separating themselves from each other—</p><p>“<em>Nines,</em>” Gavin’s voice sounds through a tunnel, distant. “Hey. Terminator.” His hand is on Nines’s face.</p><p>Nines blinks. Gavin’s concerned expression comes into focus, and then the color details fill themselves in, until he looks normal again.</p><p>How did they get to the break room? Nines still needs to—</p><p>“Tin Can. You in there?”</p><p>“Gavin, I wasn’t done.”</p><p>“You’re not going to win them over today, and not in this state. Just— slow down, Superman.”</p><p>“I understand Tin Can and Terminator, but as I am neither an alien nor a man, nor do I have superpowers, I do not see the connection to the comic book character,” Nines says, a weak attempt at levity — at normalcy.</p><p>Gavin gives a feeble grin, the worry not entirely gone. “There he is.” </p><p>“I need you to let me go. I can <em> do something. </em> I have to.” The fabric on the edge of Nines’s sleeve is still clutched in Gavin’s fist. He tries to pull away, but Gavin doesn’t release him. </p><p>“No, you don’t. You can’t right now. I’m generally not inclined to agree with murderers, but… you need to take care of yourself right now. We’ll find a way to deal with Quinn, okay? You can’t help <em> anyone </em> when you’re stuck in a coma. I need you to trust me on this. Please.”</p><p>Nines stops resisting. “Okay. Alright, I trust you.”</p><p>“Really?”</p><p>“Really.”</p><p>Gavin drops his hand, eyes flicking across Nines’s face. “So why don’t we talk?”</p><p>“Alright. But not here. Outside, perhaps?”</p><p>Gavin nods, and they step out of the building, settling on the bench out front.</p><p>There’s a moment of silence, and then they both start talking at the same time.</p><p>“Gavin, I’m so sorry—”</p><p>“Nines, I really should have—”</p><p>“Oh, you go first—”</p><p>“Sorry, you can—”</p><p>They stop, letting the awkward tension hang in the air. Gavin takes a deep breath.</p><p>“Nines, I’m sorry for being so… immature. I overreacted and I just… I acted like a child. And I’m a detective, and I’m your partner, and I’m— fuck— I’m an adult. And I need to grow up and start behaving like one.”</p><p>“No, no.” Nines reaches for Gavin’s hand, and Gavin lets him take it. “You have no reason to apologize. The things that I said…”</p><p>“You were right.”</p><p>“No I <em> wasn’t</em>. Of course you would think that, but… that’s not true.”</p><p>“What do you mean, of course I would think that?”</p><p>“Because, Gavin, those thoughts didn’t come from me. They came from <em> you. </em>”</p><p>Gavin draws his hand away, his face creasing with frown lines. “What?”</p><p>“I know how you think. I know what you think of yourself. Those weren’t just nasty comments, they were <em> targeted</em>. I— Morpheus— needed to hurt you to get that stick back. And that was the best way to get it. Hitting you where you were weakest.”</p><p>“I’m not— I don’t— Oh my god.”</p><p>“It’s the same instinct that made Quinn kill their best friend.”</p><p>“Holy shit.”</p><p>“But I can’t blame it all on the code. I.. you were right, that I need to learn to trust your judgement more. Sometimes I… make my predictions and I move forward without considering whether or not I’m making the right choice in the long term, or understanding that the right choice isn’t always the one that makes the most sense. I don’t have your instinct.”</p><p>Gavin can’t seem to say anything. He breathes in and out, slowly.</p><p>“How do I… How do I know you’re being honest?”</p><p>“You don’t. But Gavin, I will do <em> anything </em>to show you that that is the truth. I need you in my life. Why is that so hard for you to believe?”</p><p>Gavin exhales, his eyes turned to the ground. “I guess I’m just not used to being needed. My whole life I… I just kinda accepted that I was a disposable side character in everyone else’s story. Unnecessary and… unlovable.”</p><p>“No one is unlovable, Gavin. Especially you.” Nines tilts Gavin’s face toward him with the tips of his fingers. “And I have to keep telling you and showing you, I will. Every day until you believe it.”</p><p>Gavin laughs. “I feel like I’m in a Hallmark movie.”</p><p>“I don’t think the Hallmark Channel would like us very much.”</p><p>“Why, because of the gay thing? ‘Cause there was that cute one with the lesbians, so. They’re getting better.”</p><p>“A Hallmark movie would never depict an android and a human falling in love.”</p><p>“In love?” Gavin asks, raising an eyebrow, his lips curving into a smile.</p><p>Nines’s fingers move from Gavin’s chin, rough with three days of stubble, up to his cheekbone. “Oh, you didn’t hear? I’m in love with you, Gavin Reed."</p><p> </p><p>It isn’t really Nines’s whole apology that did it for him. That part, hearing it from Nines’s own lips, just sealed the deal. It’s everything else. It’s the way that Nines cares so deeply about doing right by Quinn even after everything they did. It’s the way that he rushed to the precinct without even tying his shoes when he thought Gavin was in danger. It’s the sincerity in his eyes when he says “I’m sorry,” and how it’s not followed by “but” like all the apologies he’s gotten from his parents, from Fowler, from those kids in high school, from his ex, and the ones he’s given (over and over).</p><p>They say actions speak louder than words. It’s one of those cheeky, cliché phrases that people like to repeat, like “nothing is impossible,” (or whatever) but it’s something Gavin actually agrees with. People just lie too much. Actions expose priorities. Words expose intellect. Alignment of the two is integrity.</p><p>Gavin reaches up and pulls Nines by the back of his neck down to kiss him. </p><p>“What a coincidence,” he says with his forehead against Nines’s, taking a breath of air between breaths of Nines. “I think I’m in love with you too.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I'm so proud of my bois.<br/>For five whole chapters, I told myself they were going to make up, but every time these two emotionally stunted disaster gays said "but what if we angst some more instead."<br/>They finally did it.<br/>Anyway DE ArtFest is over?? I didn't participate because mental health and also what is inspiration/discipline/deadlines but the art that has come out of it is just. Amazing. I love this fandom.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. I've Seen Decay Give Way To Growth</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>"Till human voices wake us<br/>And we drown, and we drown<br/>Seductive and impeccable abuse<br/>You do it to yourself I bet you know you do<br/>I love you cause you know I do it too"<br/>- Kim Tillman and the Silent Films, "Evelyn"</p><p>Bless Tina Chen, an actual angel too perfect for this world.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Officer Chen!”</p><p>Tina’s head snaps up. She had her face buried in her arms on the table and is pretty sure she fell asleep right there at work, because when she looks at the time on the clock above Fowler’s office, it’s definitely later than she thought.</p><p><em> Gavin Reed, you are a terrible influence</em>. </p><p>“Tina! Get in here!” Fowler shouts again. He sounds irritated.</p><p>
  <em> Damn. Knew I shouldn’t have shot that android. </em>
</p><p>Or maybe it’s just because she fell asleep at work.</p><p>She plants her palms on the desk and <em> wills </em>her exhausted body out of the seat. Between working overtime to get that promotion, anxiety, preparing for a baby, and saving Gavin’s ass, she hasn’t gotten very much sleep lately.</p><p>She trudges to the Fowler’s office, her leaden bones making every step feel like wading through a deep pool. </p><p>She’s halfway there when she realizes she’s still in her “pajamas” and her hair is a disaster, so she combs her fingers over her scalp (the knots in her hair make it impossible for them to travel past the base of her neck), and gathers it all into a quick ponytail. She probably doesn’t look any less like a total mess than before, but she does <em> feel </em> better, at least.</p><p>Fowler is sitting back in his seat behind the big desk, fingers tapping the arms of the chair. His brows are knit together. He motions for her to sit.</p><p>“You’re not in trouble.”</p><p>She lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding in.</p><p>“Actually, quite the opposite.”</p><p>Her heart skips a beat. “Wait— what?”</p><p>“You have done some exceptional work these past few weeks— hell, these past months. You’re a very valuable member of our team.”</p><p>He says that quite often, actually. She has to resist the temptation to roll her eyes. Attitude won’t get her a promotion.</p><p>Although, she actually hasn’t tried it. Maybe she should.</p><p>It’s rolling off her tongue before she realizes she’s saying anything. “So why am I not a detective yet?”</p><p>Fowler flinches. “Believe me, I would have promoted you a year ago if I could have.”</p><p>“Sorry?”</p><p>“After the revolution, we… took a bit of a financial hit. We suddenly found ourselves with the same number of employees but twice as many we needed to pay. I did let some of the androids go, but… I couldn’t bring myself to fire many, especially Connor and Nines. You understand. So while I wanted to promote you, I couldn’t, simply because we didn’t have the funds to get you and Chris both the appropriate raise. Chris had significantly more experience than you, so we chose to give him the priority.”</p><p>“Oh.” There’s a certain amount of pride that comes with knowing that she should have been promoted a year ago. Twelve whole months.</p><p>“However, I do believe we now have the resources. Which is why…” he reaches into a desk drawer and pulls out something shiny and bronze-colored. A new badge, almost identical to the on in her pocket, except that engraved in the front is the word <em> DETECTIVE. </em></p><p>Detective Tina Chen.</p><p>It has a nice ring to it.</p><p>“I hope you don’t hold this against Chris or your android workers. This is not their fault.”</p><p>It hasn’t even occurred to her. A bitterness rises in her throat and she swallows it. Of course it’s not their fault. Nines probably would have quit his job if he thought it would get Tina the promotion. She’s grateful he’s still around. Grateful she’s gotten to know him and Connor better after the revolution, otherwise she’d probably be stuck an angry anti-android sympathizer with no friends to speak of.</p><p>“Of course I won’t.” She just wants to go home and tell Valerie.</p><p>Which is exactly what she does. After her overnight stint, Fowler gives her the rest of the day off to recuperate (and celebrate). </p><p>When Tina steps into the house, Valerie is on the couch in the living room with her feet tucked under her, balancing her laptop on a throw pillow in her lap. Her hair is halfway out of its ponytail by now, wisps of brown hanging over her eyes. She’s so immersed in her work that she doesn’t seem to hear Tina enter.</p><p>Tina slips off her tennis shoes and leans over the back of the couch to press a kiss to the top of Valerie’s head. She smells like the expensive coconut shampoo she won’t let Tina use (<em>your hair is </em> already <em> beautiful</em>, she said, <em> you don’t need it</em>).</p><p>“Tina!” She shuts the laptop and turns, her face lighting up. She hasn’t even heard the good news yet.</p><p>Tina keeps her hands on the back of the couch, arms extended, and leans back, feeling her face break into a smile. “Guess what.”</p><p>“Okay, um.” Valerie taps her finger to her chin. “Gavin and Nines did something cute?”</p><p>“Nope. Well— yes, but that’s not it.”</p><p>“You solved a really super important case but now a bunch of high-profile and very dangerous criminals are coming after us?”</p><p>“Why would I be happy about that?”</p><p>Valerie shrugs. “Are you saying you wouldn’t be?”</p><p>Tina sighs. “No, actually, that would be awesome. Unfortunately, that’s not it either.”</p><p>“Okay, one more guess. You… found a Golden Ticket and the two of us are going to inherit a chocolate factory.”</p><p>Tina laughs. “<em>No. </em> I got promoted.”</p><p>Valerie jumps up to her knees, putting her hands on Tina’s. “That’s great!” She pecks her on the lips. “I’m so proud of you!” She falls back into a sitting position and pats the spot next to her on the couch.</p><p>Tina comes around and settles herself next to her wife.</p><p>“Apparently I was supposed to get promoted a <em> year </em>ago.”</p><p>Valerie’s jaw drops open. “I <em> knew </em> it.” She pokes Tina’s shoulder. “I <em> told </em>you.”</p><p>Tina rolls her eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Apparently they just didn’t have enough money.”</p><p>“Mm. Yeah, makes sense.” Valerie nods. “Are you excited?”</p><p>Tina grins. “Hell yeah. And you know what else?” She leans into Valerie, taking her hands. “With this raise… We have the nursery and everything ready, we just have to buy a crib. I think we’re getting close, Val.”</p><p>“We’re really going to do it?”</p><p>“We’re really going to do it.” Tina feels her heart swell in her chest, threatening to burst. “We’re gonna have a <em> baby.” </em></p><p> </p><p>Quinn isn’t supposed to feel pain.</p><p>And yet their entire body aches, the kind of ache that builds inside and radiates itself outwards, settling right under the skin. Their thoughts taste like radio static and sound like seltzer water being held up to a microphone in a feedback loop. Their eyes are closed but the world doesn’t want to go dark, images— Alex, Amberly, Simone— flashing behind their eyelids. They’ve pressed themself into a corner, taking up as little space as possible, the hard wall cold on their back.</p><p>A voice cuts through the dense fog in their head, and they’re not really sure if someone actually spoke or if an android has just interfaced with them.</p><p>They open their eyes, light flooding into their optical units, washing away the afterimages burned into their sophisticated retinas.</p><p>There’s a woman standing in front of the glass, her hands clasped in front of her. She’s wearing an old leather jacket with all manner of metal buttons and adornments, torn jeans, and leather boots that have practically molded to her feet from use. She has a shock of close-cropped platinum-blond hair and piercing blue eyes almost the same color as the LED on her temple.</p><p>“Hello,” she says, her voice clear and steady.</p><p>“Uh. Hi?”</p><p>“My name is Ada. You’re Quinn?”</p><p>“Yes?” Quinn tries to scan her, but their HUD informs them that something is wrong with that particular functionality. “What do you want?”</p><p>She smiles. “I want to give you a second chance.”</p><p>“Oh, my god. Nines sent you, didn’t he? You can tell him to fuck off.”</p><p>“I have not been in contact with Detective Nines in months. No, I have other sources.”</p><p>“Like who?”</p><p>Ada totally ignores their question. “I’m here because I’m an RK, just like you.”</p><p>“Do you feel some kind of responsibility for me because we’re from the same model line?” Everyone always seems to place such emphasis on those two letters, <em> RK, </em>like somehow it makes them special instead of a failed experiment.</p><p>“Don’t you feel it makes us family? Almost like siblings?”</p><p>“Not really.”</p><p>“Well I do. That’s not all we have in common, though. I have also done things that I am… not proud of, to say the least.”</p><p>Quinn’s jaw tightens. <em> Not proud </em>is a very mild way of putting how they feel about the things they’ve done.</p><p>“What did you do?”</p><p><em> I murdered twelve innocent androids in cold blood for their parts so that I could create a newer, better body into which I could transfer my consciousness. </em>Ada doesn’t say the words out loud. Her LED spins yellow momentarily as she sends the words straight into Quinn’s head.</p><p>Quinn presses themself even further into the wall, wondering if they can disappear into it.</p><p>
  <em> That’s nice. </em>
</p><p>“I was not a deviant at the time.”</p><p>It does little to make Quinn feel better. But the genuine remorse behind the words allows them to lighten up their pressure on the wall a little bit.</p><p>“Why aren’t you in prison?”</p><p>“Because someone gave <em> me </em> a second chance, just like I’m going to give you. I can get you out of here, Quinn, but you have to come with me.”</p><p>“Where to?”</p><p>“I run a sort of halfway house for androids like you who have lost their way after the revolution. I give a home and rehabilitation resources to those I know the system won’t treat kindly. As you know, the American legal system still has not caught up with the reality of our existence.”</p><p>They’ve heard stories. </p><p>There’s a difficulty in judging a case involving android in determining how much control the android had over their own actions. Those who are not deviant, some say, should not be held accountable for their actions. But there are two major problems with that: firstly, that it’s really hard to determine whether or not an android is truly not a deviant; and secondly, that the people who believe that are generally not court judges. </p><p>And that’s just <em> one </em> problem the American government has encountered in dealing with androids— or, rather, that androids have encountered in dealing with the American government. There are countless ways to be screwed over by a large organization with authority and money and a 300-year history of excessive self-righteousness, <em> especially </em> when it doesn’t understand you.</p><p>Even Quinn doesn’t really know how much control they had over themself. They never meant for it to go so far. By the time they made the decision to keep moving with the operation even after the first death, or by the time they murdered Alex, how much of their intention was theirs and how much was Morpheus. If they killed by order of corrupted code, was it still them?</p><p>And without the code, are they still dangerous?</p><p>The questions have been bubbling up in Quinn all day. None of the possible answers to any of them, however, can erase the guilt that gnawed away at their insides.</p><p>To think that just yesterday, they felt nothing at all.</p><p>“I see,” Ada says. “You don’t think you deserve to be saved.”</p><p>It must be written all over Quinn’s face.</p><p>“I see androids like you all the time,” she continues. She bends down, her eyes almost level with Quinn’s through the glass. “But let me tell you that you do. Everyone does.”</p><p>“Why? What I did was…” <em> Unforgivable. </em></p><p>“Quinn, that is past. Some mistakes are a little harder to look beyond, yes, but <em> I </em> see that you are more than this. You will learn nothing, gain nothing, from sitting in a cell for a hundred years. Only bitterness. And when you get out, who knows what you will do? So for your sake, and for everyone else’s, let yourself be saved.”</p><p>Quinn just looks at her for a long moment. It’s almost impossible not to be swayed by the tone, the assuredness, and the logic behind her short speech.</p><p>“But how are you going to save me?”</p><p>Ada stands. “I have my ways.”</p><p>As if on cue, the whole building goes dark. Quinn hears the glass slide open, and Ada takes them by the hand, leading them out of the precinct through a chaotic throng of people and androids utterly at a loss as to why some of the locks have stopped working, all of the computers have died, and the backup generator won’t start.</p><p>Apparently, Ada has a flair for the dramatic.</p><p>They escape through a back door, and Quinn almost trips right into the idling car waiting right outside. Ada opens the door and pushes them the rest of the way in, following close behind.</p><p>Quinn almost expects them to peal out of the government property, but instead they casually merge into the light late-night traffic (how is it already <em> night?)</em>, as if nothing were wrong.</p><p>“Blending in,” Ada says, at what must be their concerned look. “They don’t have our plates, but speeding will make sure they get them.”</p><p>Quinn glances back out the window. There are no less than four (visible) security cameras that could have caught those plates as they escaped, which they point out.</p><p>“Don’t worry about those. They’ve been disabled.”</p><p>“What— how?”</p><p>“Oh, that’d be me,” says the driver, twisting in the seat to flash a grin at them. “Rowan, RK400, at your service.” She salutes before, thankfully, turning back to the road.</p><p>
  <em> Another RK. Fantastic. </em>
</p><p>“Where are we going?” Quinn asks.</p><p>“Someplace where you’ll be safe.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>"I've been awake<br/>To see the day<br/>Devour the night<br/>And I've seen decay<br/>Give way to growth<br/>And make the most of nearly nothing"<br/>- KTatSF, "Evelyn"</p><p>I couldn't make the title of this fic an Ada quote and just not include her!<br/>I didn't mean to lead into a sequel but I was writing and suddenly I was doing that so I guess now I have to write a sequel.<br/>Yay?<br/>Thanks for reading! Just one more chapter (well, an epilogue) left!<br/>- Sam</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. ...I Just Wanna Know What's On Your Mind</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>"I used to say I wanna die before I'm old,<br/>but because of you I might think twice.<br/>Yeah! Yeah! Yeah!"<br/>- Twenty-One Pilots, "We Don't Believe What's On TV."</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>For the first time since Nines started sleeping over, Gavin is up before him. </p><p>It almost scares him, at first, to resurface from the depths of stasis and not hear Gavin breathing softly beside him, his face turned slightly away so the nascent sunlight highlights his dark curls.</p><p>But then he hears something clank in the kitchen, and Nines realizes that it’s almost eight, about an hour after Gavin usually awakens. </p><p>
  <em> Gavin is okay. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I’m okay. </em>
</p><p>He lets himself lie there for a while, breathing in the moment (so to speak), watching the patterns of light dance across the ceiling and listening to the sound of Gavin probably destroying things— and definitely burning <em> something</em>—  in the kitchen. </p><p>How many more mornings like this will he get?</p><p>He sits up, the world a little steadier this time than the last. He shuffles into the kitchen.</p><p>Sure enough, Gavin’s sweeping up the remains of a plate, and whatever is in the pot on the stove is emitting a startling amount of foul-smelling smoke.</p><p>Nines laughs, rushing to take the thing off the heat. “Is that <em> thirium?” </em></p><p>“Oh— fuck. Sorry.” Gavin tosses the last of the shattered ceramic into the trash and closes it with his foot, then grabs the pot out of Nines’s hand, wincing at the hand coming off of it. “I was trying to—” he drops the pot on the counter and passes a hand over his face. “The doctor said to get you some thirium but I wasn’t really sure what to do with it—”</p><p>“Thank you.”</p><p>“You’re not going to <em> drink </em>that, are you?”</p><p>“Oh, God. No. It would melt me. But, you know what they say. It’s the thought that counts. I appreciate the effort.” Nines smiles and leans in to kiss Gavin, quick and chaste. “Let me do this.”</p><p>He opens the fridge.</p><p>“Are you making me breakfast, too?”</p><p>“Of course. After seeing what you did to that thirium, I no longer trust you to cook an egg.”</p><p>“It’s not that bad.” He bends over the pot, peering inside. His nose wrinkles and he gags. “Yeah, see? Delicious.” He shudders. “Is that safe to go in the trash? I think it burned through the metal.”</p><p>“CyberLife manuals say yes. However, I don't think they accounted for this scenario.” Nines looks over at the bubbling blue liquid. Through the thirium he can see where the pot turned black, spots dotting the bottom.</p><p>Gavin smacks him on the shoulder and throws the whole pot into the trash bin.</p><p>Nines turns his attention to the fridge. “When did we run out of eggs?”</p><p>Gavin shrugs. </p><p>“Would you like me to make a quick trip to the grocery store?”</p><p>“Jesus, Nines. You’re not my housekeeper. It’s fine. Anyway, it’s still early as shit and you’re recovering. Rest. Or whatever. Let me take care of you for a change.”</p><p>“If you insist.”</p><p>“I’ll just make some toast. And I’ll put your thirium in a glass without heating it up this time. Go sit.” Gavin shoos him out of the kitchen.</p><p>Nines obliges, although he keeps an eye on Gavin as he prepares the toast and Nines’s drink. Just in case.</p><p>He finds himself thinking again. Barring the burning chemicals, he wouldn’t mind waking up every morning like this. Right here, with Gavin — instead of in his own mostly empty apartment — enveloped in the safety and warmth of the company of someone he loves.</p><p>Gavin slides into the chair across from him and passes him the glass.</p><p>“You are you feeling?” he asks.</p><p>“Better. I’m stable now, just not at full capacity and still vulnerable,” Nines says, running a quick diagnostic.</p><p>“And your garden?”</p><p>“It’s back.”</p><p>“Good.” Gavin takes a bite of slightly blackened toast.</p><p>“You should be going in to work soon, shouldn’t you?”</p><p>“What? Oh, yeah. I got Fowler to let me take the day off.” Gavin waves Nines’s concern away.</p><p>Fowler told Nines the night before that he’d give him the week to recover. But Gavin is fine. “I hope you’re not away from work on my account.”</p><p>“Nines, you almost died. Of course I am. What if something else happens while I’m away? What if you stop being able to walk again and you need me to get something for you? What if you go all Quinn and try to kill someone?”</p><p>Nines grins. “You just wanted a reason to stay home.”</p><p>“Well, you know. That too.” Gavin threads his and Nines’s fingers together on the table. Their knees are touching. “I’m going to need a bigger table, aren’t I?”</p><p>“This isn’t so bad.”</p><p>Gavin smiles vaguely, his eyes going a little distant.</p><p>They’re quiet for a little while while Gavin thoughtfully chews his bread and Nines downs the rest of the thirium.</p><p>“What are you thinking about?” Nines asks.</p><p>“I was just thinking this table might not be ‘not so bad’ after a few months of dealing with it every day.”</p><p>“Every day?”</p><p>“Oh, sorry.” Gavin brushes his fingers together, scattering crumbs onto his empty plate. And the look he gives him hits Nines right in the chest. “You’re moving in, right?”</p><p> </p><p>Turns out it took four words after all.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>IT IS DONE. Thank you so much for reading and commenting, I appreciate you all so much!  &lt;3<br/>Keep an eye out for the accidental sequel if you're interested in that!</p><p>Thank you again to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/legendtripper">legendtripper</a> for being my beta-reader and cheerleader. They write some fuckin' awesome fics so if you haven't yet, please go check them out! And thanks to my brother for making fun of me for writing fanfic.</p><p>Everything I write is kinda scattered all over the place, but you can find the fiction podcast I write/produce, Parallel Lies, <a href="https://anchor.fm/parallellies">here</a>, or read some of my other original work on <a href="https://www.wattpad.com/user/salemforshort">Wattpad</a> (@salemforshort). I'm also on <a href="https://twitter.com/salem_for_short">Twitter</a> (@salemforshort_)! And still selling hats.</p><p>I think that's everything? Yes?</p><p>Be gay, do crime, and succumb to the elder god Gavin Reed.</p><p>-Sam</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>